Keep the Next Breath
by Majesta Moniet
Summary: Jace and Clary return from the battle in Idris victorious...and as brother and sister. They must confront their forbidden feelings while living in the shadow slowly descending upon New York. Jace/Clary. Post-CoG AU
1. Part One

I want to thank **aimmyarrowshigh** for helping me get this story rolling, offering creative feedback and doing some amazing beta work. Check out her Mortal Instruments stuff on LiveJournal because it's awesome. **Snapcrakklepop** was kind enough to edit the first couple of chapters, and I never would have gotten to chapter three without her. Thank you to **pnai_87** for talking narrative, characterization, and story structure with me. Her insight was priceless. And **thankthatstar** gets lots of hugs for being the most supportive Jace in the world.

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART ONE**

They leave for Idris as estranged brother and sister; they come back as two battered parts of the same whole.

When Clary closes her eyes, she sees Jace empty, pale, _gone_. He's a shadow on the ground that slips through her fingers whenever she reaches for him. There is no angel. No wish. No _what you want most in the world_. Every night is this reoccurring Hell she's been delegated to, and it doesn't take much to figure out why.

When Jace closes his eyes, he sees his father. He's standing at the edge of Lake Lynn, as large and formidable as he had appeared to Jace as a young child. But it's the sword in Valentine's hand that terrifies him. It's the tip pressed to Clary's neck, drawing a trickle of blood that Jace feels coating his own hands. Valentine turns to him, spits the word _sister_ like a curse, and then allows Maellartach to claim the rest of her.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"This is it."

Clary steps around Jace into the small room. It looks just like his, like all of the bedrooms in the institute—four stone walls, twin bed, crisp white sheets, small nightstand, bathroom, closet. It's exactly what she expected. It's what she _wanted_.

So she doesn't know why she's overcome with the urge to turn and run. Run back to the hospital, where she can sit holding Jocelyn's hand and pretend that she'll wake up at any moment. Clary's not accustomed to running away, has never wanted to this badly.

She forces herself forward until she can drop her overstuffed bag on the bed. She'll need to make another trip to Luke's to get the rest of her things. There isn't a lot—most everything was lost with her and Jocelyn's apartment—but without Luke being here to drive her, she has to make multiple trips on the subway.

She turns and looks at Jace. He's leaning in the doorway, hands stuck in the pockets of his dark jeans, grey t-shirt clinging to his chest. Somehow he looks different than he did in Idris, more real almost. Everything that happened there had had a dreamlike quality to it, and returning to New York has been like waking up from a beautiful, but haunting, nightmare.

"My guess is dinner will be around seven," Jace says offhandedly. "And you don't have to worry about Isabelle being allowed anywhere near the kitchen. Maryse has been cooking every night since we got back. It's therapeutic or something."

His golden eyes follow her progress as she crosses the room, and when she stops right in front of him, she sees his throat working as if he's swallowing something painful. She just manages to keep herself from shivering at his proximity. The heat from his body is an almost tangible thing between them as she peers up at him. "Jace…"

"Something wrong with the room? I know the view of the pothole-riddled street is sort of obscured by the broken street lamp but—"

"Jace." She reaches for his hand, and he lets her take it. Her fingers slide easily between his, and she's struck by how mismatched they look—her pale, freckle-dusted knuckles alongside his smooth golden ones. To think that the same blood runs through their veins…

Jace's free hand brushes her cheek with the hesitancy of someone doing something they know they shouldn't. "I'm glad that you're here," he says, fingers following the curve of her ear. "I hadn't heard from you in a couple of days."

"I know. I've been at the hospital a lot. And then I was at Luke's getting things together. Sorry I didn't call."

He doesn't ask about Jocelyn. Not because he doesn't care but because he knows Clary doesn't want to talk about it more than she has to. The fact that he—that anyone here—knows her so well is a small comfort that pools like warmth in her stomach.

She tightens her hold on his hand. "Jace, we never talked about Idris. We never talked about that night…"

His hand drops from her face. "Clary." He says her name like a warning.

But his letter—the one she's read over until she no longer needs to read in order to hear the words in her mind—is burning a hole in her back pocket. "You meant it. Didn't you? The things that you wrote—"

"Of course I meant it," he says abruptly, and for a moment she thinks that he might wrench his hand from her, but he doesn't. "I can't tell you 'I love you' and not mean it. And I can't say it and mean it the way I should."

"Then why are we—"

"You know why."

"_I'm part monster. Part everything I've tried so hard to burn out, to destroy…It explains why I feel the way I do about you…I should want to protect you from the sort of boys who want to do to you exactly what I want to do to you."_

Jace's cold, resigned face from that night in Idris flashes through her mind's eye, and she's gripped with the same desperate need to make him see just how wrong he is. Demon blood or not, he isn't a monster. He's one of the most loyal and compassionate people she's ever met, and he's never used his skill for evil, even though he had every opportunity to.

She wants to tell him all of these things, but he draws away before she gets the chance.

"I'm next door," he mutters while turning to leave, "if you need anything."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

There's something dark inside of him. Jace feels it twisting his stomach and sharpening his senses every time Clary walks into a room. His eyes always fall on her hair first. He recalls how the red curls felt tangled around his fingers as he held her mouth firmly against his, and he doesn't even feel guilty.

"Sister" has stopped meaning "sister" and has started meaning "the girl he's in love with but can't have." It's like being stuck in the first stage of a relationship—boy sees girl, boy likes girl—and not having the chance to go any further.

Clary doesn't think there's anything wrong with him. Maybe it's because she's so good. Pure. Maybe it's the Angel blood blinding her to his darkness. He told her in that letter just what she meant to him—she means _everything_. He knows that he revealed too much, that it was selfish of him to put his needs above her own wellbeing and admit he loves her more than he's ever loved anything or anyone, more than a brother should love a sister. But he'd been so certain that he would never have to deal with the repercussions. When Jace left Clary sleeping in the early morning, he had thought that was the last morning he would ever see.

And it should have been. He _died_, and Clary had brought him back. If she knew…

The door to the training room opens, and Clary enters with Robert just a step behind her. She's laughing at something that causes Robert to shake his head. Neither of them notices him leaning against the far wall as they cross to the weapons rack, but Jace's golden eyes dog Clary's every step.

If she knew that when he wasn't having nightmares about her death, he was dreaming about her moaning his name as he takes her against the wall…he thinks she would finally understand just how dangerous he is.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"What's up?"

Clary quickly flips her phone closed and tries to hide it beneath her thigh. She meets Simon's curious gaze evenly. Every once in a while she still does a double take when she sees him without his glasses. His eyes are so much bigger and darker without them. "Nothing," she says too quickly.

He nudges her with his elbow. "Spit it out, Fray."

"It's…" Clary glances at Isabelle, who's sprawled on Simon's living room floor, a bowl of popcorn next to her head and eyes glued to TV screen, where Jensen Ackles is throwing his weight around in some dumpy bar. When Clary had casually mentioned that she was going to visit Simon, Isabelle had insisted on tagging along. Clary doesn't really mind the company—and she _knows_ Simon doesn't mind—but it's strange having a third person around.

She scoots nearer to Simon on the couch so that she can lower her voice. "It's Jace."

They're too close for Simon to turn his head, but Clary can hear the frown in his voice when he says, "He's supposed to call you?"

"I asked him to. I wanted to maybe get dinner later." She sighs in resignation. "We hardly ever see each other."

"But you live together."

"He's avoiding me." He's been avoiding everyone since the day she moved into the Institute nearly two weeks ago. Isabelle writes it off as his way of grieving, and Alec is too preoccupied with Magnus to really notice; it's like the only person who cares is Clary.

Simon takes a moment to respond, and when he does, he speaks slowly. "Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe that's what he needs to do."

Clary frowns. "What's that supposed to mean? We're…family. We're supposed to stick together."

"You're supposed to stick together and not get along," Simon corrects her. "Trust me. I've been condemned to siblinghood a lot longer than you have."

Clary can't even begin considering the differences between her relationship with Jace and Simon's relationship with Rebecca. "Something's bothering him," she says. "I can tell."

She knows _exactly _what's bothering him. But Jace hasn't told anyone about what they discovered in the basement of the Wayland's manor house, and it's not her place to say anything.

She startles at the feel of Simon's fingers on her face. He's frowning while gently tracing the skin beneath her eyes. "Something's bothering you, too. You look like you haven't been sleeping."

"Hey, what are you guys whispering about?" Isabelle pops up on her knees in front of them, and Simon's hand drops from Clary's face. The television show is momentarily forgotten in the background, as Isabelle's eyes dart between Clary and Simon, lingering where their thighs are touching.

"Nothing." Simon stands and heads towards the kitchen. "Just discussing the weather."

Immediately disinterested, Isabelle turns back to the TV. "All this freakish snow, right? I've already ruined a pair of boots."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Three days later and Clary still can't catch five minutes alone with Jace. By the time she wakes up, he's already at work in the training room, and when she gets back from her mornings at the hospital, he's out doing no one knows what in the city (at least, Isabelle and Alec certainly can't tell her). She knows he's avoiding her, and she would be hurt by it if she didn't have a good idea as to why.

Clary shakes her head to try to clear away the excess thoughts. She's supposed to be focusing. Twenty minutes in the training room and she's only managed to make it successfully through the set once. Robert Lightwood has spent the last couple of days teaching her some very basic stances and movements that he explained were the basis for any solid defense or offense. At first Clary had been surprised by his volunteering to take her under his wing. Him approaching her and offering to help with her training was the first conversation they ever had. But the more time Clary spends at the Institute, the more often she finds Robert in the training room. If cooking is Maryse's way of dealing with her grief, then physical exertion is Robert's.

Squaring her shoulders, she bends her knees until she finds her balance. Then she begins the set. It doesn't come naturally, and she moves slowly at first, her arms stiff and robotic as they sweep from one side to the other. So she closes her eyes and tries to focus on how it _feels_ instead of how it looks. She nearly reaches the end of the set without a misstep, when a voice startles her from behind.

Clary whips around to see Jace in doorway, hair windblown and cheeks flushed with the cold of the New York late autumn. He looks like a character swept from the pages of one of her favorite anime—one of the dangerous, adventurous characters.

"You're doing it wrong."

"Excuse me?" She spares only a quick subconscious glance down at her recently acquired workout attire—dark spandex shorts and sports bra—before meeting his intent stare.

"You're doing the moves wrong."

"No, I'm not."

Jace smirks, but it doesn't have any bite. "Here, let me show you."

Clary watches curiously as he shrugs out of his lined leather coat and stalks towards her. She's thrown by his sudden willingness after days of avoidance. Jace has a history of running hot and cold, and—not for the first time—she's having difficulty keeping up.

"Turn around," he instructs her, and she obeys apprehensively. When the strong planes of his chest brush her shoulders, she nearly jumps in surprise. She clears her throat and tries to force down her sudden disquiet at his proximity.

"Your hands are cold," she remarks, shivering as his fingers gently curl into the bare skin of her hips.

"Sorry." The metal button of his jeans presses into the small of her back when he pulls her against him. "Just came in from outside."

In the back of her mind, Clary wonders why the training room was his first stop, but mostly she's focusing on her breathing and trying to keep it under control with Jace holding her the way that he is.

His breath teases the hair at her temple as he speaks. "Strong posture doesn't necessarily mean standing straight. You've got to be flexible, willing to change and adapt."

"But when Robert does it he always looks so still. Steady, like no one could move him."

"Control takes practice, but the motion itself…"

Hands force her hips to dip, and Jace's body briefly moves in tandem with hers as he guides her to the left and then to right in single, fluid motion. Clary knows she's supposed to be doing something with her arms but they hang heavily—uselessly—at her sides. She feels lightheaded with anticipation of him touching her and moving with her like that again.

"Just keep your chest lifted." His left hand abandons her hip to slide up her stomach and splay across her ribs. Clary sucks in a sharp breath that she can't let go.

"Like that," he murmurs into her ear.

And with that quiet encouragement, it's only them. Bits and pieces of reality fall away, until it's just Clary with Jace wrapped around her as though he wants to consume her. She knows he can feel her heart pounding away between them, can see her blush as the heat inside her belly turns beneath the palm of his scarred hand.

Jace's pinky finger dips inside her navel as his lips ghost her neck, and Clary finds herself subconsciously tipping her head to bare more skin to him. The hold on her hip tightens. She becomes very conscious of his body pressed against the length of hers.

"Jace," she whispers, hand encircling his wrist and sliding up the length of his forearm. Muscle tenses beneath her touch. Jace's nose nudges the strap of her sports bra, and Clary _swears_ his teeth nip at her skin. Clary can't stand the teasing a moment longer. She turns her face up to him, but the moment their lips graze, Jace jerks away as if shocked. A stark coldness seeps into her body as he takes several steps backward, hands fisted at his side and mouth pressed into a grim line.

"What—"

"You know what."

His voice is as cold as she feels, and though it makes Clary want to flinch back, she digs in her heels instead. "Stop pushing me away."

He stares back at her defiantly. "It's the only way. I don't want to see you get hurt, and you _will_ get hurt if you get too close to me."

Clary wants to pull at her hair. "How can you honestly think that? After everything we've been through, you still think that you would hurt me?"

"Maybe not on purpose," he says darkly, head bowed. "But sometimes I feel like I can't control it. When I'm around you…the demon in me doesn't care about consequences. He just _wants_. And he wants you."

"You're not—"

His head snaps up, golden eyes lit like twin matches, and Clary momentarily forgets herself and allows fear to grip her. He closes the distance between them, lowers his face until his lips are nearly grazing her cheek. "You're going to tell me I'm not a bad person for wanting to fuck my sister?" he says slowly, dangerously. "What kind of person sees his sister walk into a room and imagines what she's wearing beneath her clothes and wonders what it would be like to find out? Is that what a good brother does? Fantasizes about touching his sister?"

"Stop," she whispers, looking away from the intensity of his stare.

He nods knowingly, something like triumph shinning in his eyes. "Do you know I dream about you?" he continues more softly. "About us as lovers? Sometimes we're in my bed, sometimes the shower, sometimes right here on the floor of the training room with everyone watching us—"

"You're only saying that to hurt me," Clary cuts in. She feels flushed and disoriented, her mind responding one way to his words and her body another. "You think acting this way will drive me away. Like those terrible things you said to me in Idris. But I know you, Jace, and this isn't just about lust or sex. You can't just take the bad without considering the good parts of what you feel, too."

Jace's face softens almost imperceptibly. His palm finds the curve of her cheek. "You are the good parts. All of them."

She shakes her head, careful not to dislodge his hand. "You're wrong. Someone can't love the way you do and be a monster."

"To love is to destroy," he says hollowly.

"You don't believe that."

"I'm starting to."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The familiar creak of the elevator descending to the first floor pulls Clary from the dense text of the demonology book she's been poring over for the last hour and a half. Grateful for the potential distraction, she pushes the heavy text across the desk as she stands and stretches her cramped muscles. If she has to look at the description of a _palvage_ demon again, it will be too soon.

She's out of the library and halfway down the hall when elevator's clattering starts up again. The noise stops just before door slides open, and she has to squint in the dim hallway light to make out the huddled group of figures that emerge.

"Keep applying the pressure."

"Yes, Alec. That's the spot. Harder."

"Now is not the time to be cute."

"I can't help the face I was born with."

Clary picks up her pace upon seeing Jace propped up between the stooped shoulders of Alec and Robert as they slowly make their way down the corridor that leads to the infirmary. She catches up with them and almost gags on the pungent stench of blood and sweat mixed with ichor.

"What happened?" Clary stares in alarm at the red-stained cloth Alec is pressing to a wound on Jace's side.

"Jace," Alec says darkly, "acted like an idiot."

"So they maimed me," Jace adds unhelpfully. He looks strangely out of focus, she notices. He's blinking his eyes repeatedly while working his jaw, flexing his hands which hang from around Robert and Alec's necks. His feet alternatively drag or stumble uselessly beneath him.

"Was he poisoned?"

"He? I'm not dead yet."

"By a Curan demon," Alec says over the top of Jace.

An illustrated image from the pages of the book she had just abandoned in the library flashed across her mind. She recalls the description that accompanied it. "He's becoming paralyzed, isn't he?"

"_He_," Jace cuts in, "has not lost the power of speech. Yet. My toes are just a little more tingly than usual. It's not so bad really."

Robert pushes open the door to the infirmary. "It takes a while for the poison to take complete effect."

"How do we stop it?" Clary asks, anxiously watching the three enter the room and move to the closest bed. Jace sags onto the mattress gratefully. She's not used to seeing him this helpless, and the sight literally makes her stomach ache.

"Maryse is working on an antidote," Robert answers her. "It's fairly simple, but I'm going to make sure she doesn't need anything. Alec, when you're done, take Isabelle to do another sweep of the area."

Alec, who is diligently securing a wrap around the make-shift bandage on Jace's abdomen, nods his understanding without removing his attention from the task at hand. Robert leaves the room after taking a final appraisal of Jace's battered figure.

"Just keep a close eye on him until Mom gets here with the antidote," Alec instructs her a few moments later, the roll of gauze in his hand empty. "He's probably losing feeling in his extremities, and pretty soon he won't be able to move much on his own."

Jace offers Clary a grim smile. "That means you get to stand by with a towel in case I start drooling uncontrollably on myself."

Clary frowns. "Is he still losing a lot of blood?"

"No, the _iratze_ closed most of the wound, but the poison is keeping it from healing entirely. Once he gets the antidote, that'll change." Alec runs a hand through his disheveled hair, looks like he wants to say something more, and then thinks better of it. "Isabelle and I will be back later."

"Don't get yourself killed," Jace calls after him almost as an afterthought.

Alec pauses in the doorway and casts an annoyed look over his shoulder. "Yeah, I would hate to steal your thunder."

Jace watches him leave with an almost pleased expression. "He's getting better at that."

"At what?"

"Storming out after a clever final word. It's not just Magnus's glitter that's rubbing off on him."

Clary shifts—inevitably—closer to him. The nearer she is, the more real he becomes. His hair is matted and not quite as perfect as usual. There's a smear of ichor on his temple, and his skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat—the only outward indication that he's experiencing discomfort. "What did he mean by that? Alec said you did something stupid."

"That's Alec's version of the events."

"Well, what's your version?" She's close enough to touch him now if she wants (and she does _want_ to).

Jace clears his throat, looks her over as if he's seeing her for the first time that night. "There was a nest of Curan demons down near the docks. We had a plan to surround them and cut them off from the water, where they would have the advantage because they're natural swimmers. As we were getting into place, I came up with a better plan. One that included me stabbing the largest Curan while its back was turned."

"So you were reckless," she says flatly.

"I see you're siding with Alec."

"There are no sides, Jace!" She very nearly stamps her foot in frustration. "There's just you being careless and needlessly putting yourself in danger. I mean…what were you thinking trying to take them on by yourself?"

Needing to do something with her hands, she pulls her stele from the pocket of her jeans and takes a final step toward Jace.

He eyes her warily, although she's not certain what he's afraid of. "What are you doing?"

"My runes are supposed to be stronger than regular ones, so maybe my _iratze_ can do more to heal that gash." She notices that he's stopped flexing his hands, so the poison's effect must be becoming more potent. She recalls what Jace told her on the bank of the river before they attacked Valentine's ship: the closer a rune is to the heart, the more effective it is. So she reaches for the zipper of his gear, pulling it down to the top of his ribs. She pushes aside the thin black material to reveal his lightly scarred chest. Her fingers absently trace one of the thin white lines, and Jace's breath catches.

Clary shakes her head to clear it and replaces her finger with the tip of her stele—right beneath the black coil of a permanent rune on his shoulder. Just as she's about to begin drawing the now-familiar contours of the _iratze_, another symbol settles in her mind's eye: two curving lines running parallel to each other and bound together in the middle by an oblong circle. Just the sight of it soothes her, and she hesitates only a moment before copying it onto the canvas of Jace's skin.

"That's not—"

"I know."

Jace peers down at the mark thoughtfully. "What is it?"

Clary considers the soft, lulling nature of the rune. The curves remind her of a current in the sea. "I'm not exactly sure. But it should help."

Jace doesn't question her further. Instead he looks her intently, as if the answer is written on her face. "It's how we are. Demons, I mean. We don't worry about getting hurt. We know what we want, and we go for it. Consequences be damned."

Clary sighs. "Is that why you nearly got yourself killed? So that you could live up to your own morbid expectations of how terrible you are?"

Jace shakes his head. "You were there when the Angel told us what I am."

"What Valentine did to you wasn't your fault, Jace." She takes his limp hands in hers, determined once and for all to dismiss any notion that he's somehow inherently evil. "And maybe it made you stronger and faster than other Shadowhunters, but do you really think it changes who you are? You're a good person, Jace. A demon wouldn't have done what you did to stop Valentine."

But Jace is stubborn by nature, and he's gutted by this perceived truth to the point of self-destruction. "You've seen what demon blood does to a person. Sebastian killedMax without even hesitating." His fallen brother's name catches in his throat. "He would have killed every Shadowhunter in Idris if Valentine hadn't kept him in check."

Clary feels cold all over at the implication. "You are _nothing_ like Sebastian. He was a monster. He—"

"He wanted you, too."

Clary stares back at him. She tries to see beyond the candid pain in his eyes to what he's hiding underneath, searches for the ulterior motive—any sign that he's only saying this to push her away again. He can't believe that it's true.

But she sees nothing.

Slowly, Clary releases his hands and steps back. "You think you wouldn't love me if you didn't have demon blood?"

Jace is silent, face washed with self-loathing. Because that's _exactly_ what he thinks.

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. "That's the only reason you want me." Because she's an angel, and he's a demon, and to love is to destroy.

"Clary…" Jace reaches for her, but she evades him.

"Then what about me, Jace?" she whispers. "What's my excuse for loving _you_?"

His lips part but seem too stunned to form any words. It's just as well, because the door opens and Maryse enters with a small vile in hand. "Jace, how are you feeling?"

"Fine." And he slides onto his feet as if it to prove it. His eyes, however, stay fixed on Clary.

Maryse's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "But Robert said you couldn't even walk by the time you got back. How could you—"

The rest of the words die behind the closed door as Clary steps into the hallway.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I'm so excited to finally start posting this story! It's been a long time coming, and I bet some of you had gotten tired of me yapping about it whenever I got the chance. Haha.

Feedback is appreciated (and not-so-secretly craved). I can't promise a regular schedule of updates, but I do have a complete outline for the story so it _will_ get finished...at some point. Right now it looks like it's going to be 8-10 chapters long, but if you guys are liking it and I'm liking it, I might be expanding parts here and there. Basically, I'm just looking forward to embracing the whole WIP process again.

I'm looking for someone to regularly beta the rest of the story. I've had a lot of great help with the first couple of chapters, but I don't have anyone signed on to edit/beta long-term. If you're interested, just let me know in a review or shoot me a PM. :)


	2. Part Two

I was fortunate enough to have two people agree to act as permanent betas for this story. So lots of thanks and kudos to **ammagiepie** and **sunshiiine23** for signing on and giving this chapter a final scrub down. You ladies rock. Readers, please pay special attention to the story warnings this chapters. Mature content is mature.

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART TWO**

The next day Jace drops by the training room at the time Clary is usually practicing, but Robert is there alone. He stands with his feet apart, shoulders pulled back as he calmly launches throwing stars at a target on the wall about 30 feet away. Each one embeds itself safely within the three inner-most rings. Jace remembers when Robert taught him that same technique a couple years ago. He had taken to it like a fish to water, mastering it twice as fast as both Alec and Isabelle. Now he knows why.

"She took the day off," Robert says when he sees Jace scan the room from the door.

"Do you know where she went?"

Robert shakes his head, fingers the throwing star in his hand, and then adds, "She looked upset."

The guilt burns like swallowed acid. But Jace has learned to hide these feelings well enough. "She's probably worried about Jocelyn."

Robert nods as if he agrees, and maybe he does. It's not the sort of thing he would ever comment on aloud, though. Robert respects people; he doesn't coddle them. He looks once more toward Jace before walking to the target and pulling the blades from the board. "Maryse says you didn't have to take the antidote last night. Clary healed you?"

Jace nods reluctantly. Discussing Clary's gift with runes makes him uneasy. As far as he's concerned, the fewer people who know the extent of it, the better. The war with Valentine may be over, but where there is the Clave, there is a battlefield. But he trusts Robert, and there's no use in trying to keep her power a secret from anyone at the Institute.

To Jace's relief, Robert doesn't say anything more on the subject. He just puts the throwing stars back in their velvet-lined box. Jace turns to leave, a plan to find and question Isabelle about Clary's location already forming, when Robert's voice stops him.

"You look tired, Jace. Ever since we got back from Idris, you've looked tired. You should have Maryse make you a sleeping tonic."

"Or," Jace says, "I could read _A History of Weapons_. The farthest I've ever made it before passing out is page 613. And that's only halfway. It could do with some more pictures. And fewer words. A lot fewer."

"While your critique of the most authoritative text on Shadowhunter weaponry is quite profound and inspiring,"—a voice cuts in from behind Jace—"I believe there is another book you're supposed to becoming familiar with at the moment."

Jace groans internally before turning to face Maryse who is giving him the least threatening stare-down in her arsenal. He gives her a winning smile. "Good afternoon, Maryse."

Not at all fooled by the display, she crosses her arms as if to ward off his charms. "You're supposed to have read the first half of the codex addendum by tonight so that we can discuss it."

Jace shoves his hands into his pockets and sighs. "I'm starting to feel a little book-promiscuous. Beginning one when I haven't paid proper attention to the other—it'll damage my reputation."

"The only reputation you have in the library is one of not putting books back in their correct places."

"That,"—Jace holds up a hand—"is Isabelle. Why don't I go find her so that you can yell at her properly?"

Jace slips past Maryse's disapproving stare into the hall. "The addendum," she emphasizes. "By tonight."

"I'll circle it in my planner. It's where I keep track of all my lascivious dalliances."

Jace takes off before she can get another word in. The moment his back is turned, his face and shoulders drop. All forced normalcy drains away. Robert's words ring through his mind like the toll of a death knell. _She took the day off. She looked upset._

Jace had spent all last night staring at the ceiling and seeing the devastated look on Clary's face as she'd fled the infirmary. He should be happy. This is what he had wanted, after all—to drive Clary away so she would be safe. But walking down the Institute corridor he experiences no satisfaction or relief, only the overwhelming feeling that he's lost something important.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The rhythmic pounding of heavy bass precedes Jace down the hall to Isabelle's room, and he has to practically knock down the door before she pulls it open, a cloud of floral perfume and German techno lyrics swirling around her. She's not done up in her usual way (the only way she lets other people see her), so he can immediately assume that she's not pleased to see him

"Iz," he greets and gestures to the messy knot on top of her head. "Love the hair."

Isabelle has inherited Maryse's knack for glowering. "What do you want? I'm busy."

"I'm looking for Clary."

"She's not here." And with that Isabelle turns and waltzes back inside, leaving the door open so Jace could follow her if he chooses—which he does, grudgingly. Her room is even messier than usual. Bottles of nail polish and makeup litter the vanity and the electric blue area rug is hardly visible beneath a the array of weapons and shoes which mindlessly litter the ground. Isabelle is adding to the destruction by chucking out miscellaneous items from her walk-in closet. Jace notices a copy of the codex amendment peeking out from beneath a pile of clothes on the bed. The part of him that was trained from a very young age to be neat and orderly cringes.

"Are you sure she's not hiding in one of your drawers? You certainly aren't using them for their intended purposes."

"I'm doing some spring cleaning," she says, remerging from the closet, arms laden with hangers.

"In November."

"If you really want to check the dresser for Clary, you can," she says placidly. "Can't promise you'll like what you find, though."

While Jace usually enjoys trading quips with Isabelle, the pressing need to find Clary leaves him short on patience. "Do you know where she went? She's not answering her phone."

"She left this morning to go see Jocelyn. Haven't seen her since."

That was over five hours ago. "Call Simon," he tells her.

"What?" Isabelle looks perplexed and a little annoyed. "Why?"

"Because he skulks in Clary's shadow like sunlight can still kill him. Maybe he knows where she is."

"Why don't _you_ call him if you want to know so badly?" Isabelle sniffs as she admires a silky blue dress. "Besides, I would hate to interrupt whatever it is they may be doing…" she trails off suggestively.

The words douse him in ice water. He's distanced himself from Clary since their return from Idris, but surely he would have known if she'd gotten back with Simon. The thought that he may be wrong turns his stomach. "They're not—"

"No," she sighs, "probably not. Most likely they're just watching those freaky cartoons. Nothing that exciting. Much to Simon's disappointment, I'm sure." The last bit is muttered rather darkly into a pair of brown boots Isabelle is wiping the scuff marks off of.

Jace breathes a little easier. "Good. Otherwise I'd be obligated to permanently damage his kidneys."

Isabelle snorts as she sets aside the boots. "Right. Because you've always been so concerned about protecting _my _virtue."

"It's different with Clary," he says and immediately wishes he hadn't. Because she _shouldn't_ be any different from Isabelle.

But Isabelle only shrugs. "I suppose it is. There's still something mundane about her that needs protecting. And you really are all she has by way of family."

_Family. Right_, Jace thinks bitterly.

He gets Simon's number out of Isabelle's phone. It's a testament to how badly he needs to talk to Clary that Jace is willing to ask the bloodsucker for information. It isn't until he's outside the Institute that he works up the humility to make the call.

Simon's greeting is skeptically curious. "Helloooo?"

Jace rolls his eyes and cuts to the chase. "Is Clary with you?"

There's a pause and then Simon sighs resentfully. "Jace."

"Should I take that as an enthusiastic and pleading 'yes?' Because that's how I'm used to hearing my name used. Although, normally it's shouted."

"I knew you only called me for phone sex."

"A result of wishful thinking, I'm sure. I called because I can't find Clary. Is she with you?"

"Your sister and I—"

Someday Jace is going to invent a phone that you can reach through to punch someone in the face. Perhaps then he and Simon would chat more often.

"—haven't talked since yesterday. You're not worried about her, are you? She's okay, right?"

Jace is both annoyed and pleased by Simon's concern. "She's fine."

"Okay. Well, I'm adding you to my contacts right now, Good Lookin'. You'll be under Booty Ca—"

Jace disconnects and pockets the phone. He's not sure where to go next. The part of him that wants to survive—wants to make it through the storm battered but still breathing—tells him to turn around and go back inside. He'll be safer there. _She'll_ be safer if he's there. But Jace has always fought with his heart. That's the part of all this he doesn't understand. He may think like a demon, and he may want like a demon, but he feels far too human in these moments when he wishes things were different.

He wonders if there's ever been a demon that despises its own evil. And if not, he wonders what that means for him. Because when he thinks that Clary might be hurting as deeply as he is, Jace hates himself more than he hates the fact she's his sister. He feels nauseous and empty like he did after he yelled at her in Idris. But what he told Clary last night is true. The demon does love her. But so does every other part of him. She's not just in his blood. She's under his skin and filling his lungs so that every kept breath is a piece of her he doesn't have to share with anyone else.

Jace cannot go back inside. Nor can he move forward. He sits on the cold, concrete steps of the Institute and waits.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"Jace, are you awake?"

Her voice floats to him from a place he can't see. And though he isn't sleeping, he thinks this may be a dream.

He had waited outside until dark, but Clary hadn't come back. Maryse had received an important message from the Clave just before dinner so there was no discussion, no lecture about how none of them—except Alec—read the codex addendum. Isabelle, Alec, and Jace spent only an hour at Pandemonium waiting for demonic activity before calling the night a bust and heading home early. Clary was back at the Institute by the time they'd returned, but Jace hadn't had a good reason to knock on her closed door. So he had showered and fallen into bed, knowing that sleep wouldn't come.

And now Clary is standing at his door whispering into the darkness.

He turns and looks at her the way he's not supposed to. She's wearing a baggy shirt he knows belonged—_belongs_—to Jocelyn. It flirts with the tops of her thighs, small plaid shorts just managing to peek out from underneath. The city light streaming in from the window illuminates the freckles that trail down to her calves, and as she steps further into the room his eyes follow the flex of muscle in her thigh.

He's propped up on one elbow, and she's so close to the bed he has to crane his neck to meet her shinning eyes.

"Did I wake you up?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"I can't sleep," she apologizes.

Jace moves to sit up, her anxiety tugging relentlessly at him. "You wanna talk about it?" It's probably the most brotherly thing he's ever said to her.

She shakes her head slowly back and should have known; he's always a step behind when it comes to knowing Clary's wants. "I've had trouble sleeping for a while now…except for that night in Idris when we slept together—"

Jace's mouth goes dry at the memory and the implication.

"—was wondering if I could, maybe, try sleeping in here with you?" She finishes less certain than she started, eyes falling from Jace to his pillow as red swarms her cheeks.

There are an innumerable number of reasons for him to say 'no' (the fact that brothers don't sleep with their sisters not being the least of them). He shouldn't encourage this, not after all the fight he's been putting up ever since they discovered the truth. Giving in now would mean giving into that dark part of him that selfishly takes without a thought for the consequences.

But Jace recognizes a final chance when he sees one. And the way Clary is standing before him eyes adverted and fingers twisted together tells him that if he turns her away now, she will not be back. Whatever benevolent force which brought her here tonight will be snuffed out, and he will get what he's been trying so badly to want: a sister. And if he lets her stay…

His heart pounds a little faster in his chest. If he lets her stay, he'll be getting what he's wanted ever since he first met her. Demon or no demon.

So he pulls back the sheet and blanket. "Get in. I'm half naked, and it's cold."

She slides onto the mattress without hesitation, and her boldness makes him irrationally nervous. It's as if she's stepping over the remains of his crumbled resolve and claiming what he's kept secreted away. He feels exposed as she settles in beside him because he thinks that she could ask anything of him in this moment, and he would be powerless to refuse her.

His bed is decidedly smaller than the one they had shared in Idris, and they both have to lie on their sides to keep from touching. They're playing by her rules, so he doesn't reach out, just watches as she smiles, sighs, says _thank you_, and falls into sleep.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Jace wakes in the middle of the night. He's disoriented and can't pinpoint the cause of his unrest—his dreams had been satisfyingly free of bloodshed and full of Clary. All he can make out is the darkened ceiling until bit-by-bit, sleep gives way to consciousness, and his senses begin processing things like the unseasonable sound of rain tapping the window, the shadowy pattern it casts across the bed—gray drops sliding over white sheets—and the silent flashes of lightening that occasionally illuminate the room in brief bursts of light.

Jace takes it all in and still can't decide what…

The bed moves. Jace looks over to find Clary—t-shirt bunched up around her ribs and pale midriff exposed—twisting and moaning beside him. Her eyebrows are pinched together, her lips pursed in a small frown. She groans and turns away sharply, legs jerking as if in a fit. He allows himself only a moment to drink her in before moving to gently shake her awake. "Clary. Clary, wake up."

Her head turns back in his direction as she lets out a whimpered, "_Jace_."

He shivers at the sound, brushes his fingers over her cheek. "I'm here, Clary. You're dreaming. It's just a nightmare."

His voice soothes her restless body, and she relaxes soundlessly into the displaced sheets. But he can almost hear her heart pounding away frantically inside her chest even as green eyes appear from beneath parting lashes. They're darker than he's ever seen them before, more pupil than iris. She doesn't blink, just stares ahead at Jace, who is precariously close and wanting to drift even closer.

"Bad dream?" he asks, even though she doesn't look frightened at all; she looks tired, wanting, and waiting. His quiet question sounds like a shout compared to the whisper of wind and rain that are almost there in the room with them. Clary doesn't seem to notice. She doesn't answer his question or do anything else but lean toward him.

He recognizes the intention just before her lips touch his, soft and searching. The gesture robs Jace of his breath, and it's painful to stay still as her mouth slides against his. He very nearly falls to pieces when her small hand comes to rest gently against his cheek. It's the most intimate way anyone has ever touched him.

She pulls away slowly, and he's not sure if it's due to his lack of response or because this is all she means to give him. But then her eyes are doing what her lips just finished—searching. She looks between his eyes, seeking the response that he can't seem to vocalize. Faced with his silence her expression quickly changes from expectant to ashamed. She grimaces and starts turning away.

Maybe it's sheer panic at the thought of losing the small bit of ground they've gained or maybe it's the demon inside of him rattling its cage; either way Jace reaches out to her the way he's wanted to since they met, pulling her against him and covering her mouth with his. It's like taking a breath of fresh air after years of being trapped indoors. She feels just how he remembers: supple, warm, and demanding. But the way her bare stomach presses against his is new and coaxes his heart to pound faster, his blood to run hotter. The teasing skin-on-skin friction isn't enough, so he lowers one hand to the curve of her waist, curling the other possessively around the back of her neck.

Clary's mouth parts to suck in a breath, and Jace takes the opportunity to catch her bottom lip between his, sucking and scraping with his teeth until Clary presses herself more fervently against him, causing him to moan. His tongue slides against hers.

Jace doesn't try keeping track of her hands, he only knows that the feel of them on his body drives him crazy. His fingers knead into the flesh of her hip, learning the shape of her curves and noting her response to each touch. From there his hand fans out along her spine.

Her back is bare. _Completely_ bare.

The realization that Clary has been lying braless in his bed has him hard and straining against his pants. He tears his mouth away from hers to mutter a curse into her skin, and Clary's lips are sweet and wet against his jaw.

He's hesitating, doubting whether or not to continue, when she arches her back so that they're flush with one another. Jace takes it as the encouragement he needs to let his thumb move up to graze the side of her breast. She shivers and shifts until her peak is pressed to the center of his palm. When he applies pressure and rotates his wrist, she gasps and falls gracelessly back to the mattress, panting and moaning. He uses the space to roll on top of her and pull the abused shirt over her head and arms.

_Sister_ is a whispered reminder in the back of his mind that he ignores.

Jace has had dreams like this, dreams where Clary is half naked and looking up at him through lowered lashes. So he presses his mouth to her chest to make sure she's tangible, real. His eyes slip close at the discovery that she tastes of salt and heat. The noise she makes when he presses the flat of his tongue to her nipple makes him throb.

She's got a hand fisted in his hair and the other is dragging dull nails down his back hard enough to hurt. Their hips rock together as she hitches a slender calf up behind his thigh.

"Fuck, Clary," he groans, and the part he can't say is _your body is the best thing I've ever felt._ "Why are we doing this?"

If she were anyone else, he wouldn't care. He would take what he wanted from her, and the 'why' would be insignificant. But she's Clary. She's his sister. And he knows himself well enough to realize that this can't be a one-time thing. He needs to know that this isn't some fluke, that tomorrow night she won't be back in her own bed, not needing him as much as he needs her.

His legs are straddling her thighs with his hands on either side of her head, so she has nowhere to go. Jace's breath catches as she runs her fingers up and down his sides while considering her response.

"I lied, Jace," she begins, not meeting his eyes, "at Taki's. When you asked if I wanted you to just be my brother. I said 'yes,' and I didn't mean it, even then. I'm tired of lying, Jace."

"But I am. I'm your brother." The word tastes bitter coming off his tongue but doesn't quite dislodge the taste of _her_.

She shakes her head slowly, and he's struck by how beautiful she is. She looks like she belongs there, tangled red hair drowning his pillow and chest bared, waiting to be touched. "I don't care," she says. "I want you. Like this."

She uses her hold on his back to pull herself up and kiss him deeply. His mouth opens to hers without prompting, their tongues coming together and tasting each other languidly.

"I don't care either," he says as they part. But she already knows this, knows that his indifference to these feelings are what have been driving him steadily mad. More reluctantly he adds, "But other people will. _Everyone_ will. We can't—"

"We could keep it a secret."

His old words echoed back at him from her swollen lips is a temptation he can't resist. He'll take as much as she's willing to give, and maybe it will better this way. For now. It will just be the two of them, and they won't have to share it with anyone else. They won't have to face the promised ridicule and aversion of the people they care about. Here in the dark, what Clary and Jace have is flawless.

"You'll be mine? Only mine?" He has to be sure.

"Only yours," she murmurs against his lips.

The words are as powerful as any physical incentive, and he's overcome with the need to actually _make her his_. He needs…

Clary reads the desire in his bright eyes and tense posture. She falls back against the pillows and begins pulling down her shorts and underwear without a word.

His self-control makes its first appearance of the night. Jace swiftly catches her wrist. "C-Clary," he chokes out, trying to keep his gaze from the exposed skin.

"Please, Jace," she says evenly, not a quiver in her voice. "I want to make love with you."

He can't speak, can't breathe. So he nods disjointedly instead, the words 'make love' and 'Clary' chasing each other in his mind. He's never…_made love_…to a girl before. He wants to with Clary, can't think of anything he wants to do more. But his hands are unsteady as they take up the abandoned task of sliding the remaining clothing down her legs. He does away with his own as well before returning to Clary. He crawls between her spread legs, keeping himself suspended on his elbows above her.

She's trying to put on a brave face, but he sees the apprehension in the slight crease of her brow. He kisses her until she relaxes enough to fully respond, her hands curling into his hair.

"This could hurt. A lot. It should get better, but—"

She nods quickly. "I know."

"Okay."

Jace reaches for the night stand drawer and retrieves a condom. He opens it and rolls it down his length, which has been hard since waking up to Clary half-naked in his bed. When he finally settles himself between her thighs, they're both breathing heavily, the anticipation almost suffocating. Jace catches and holds Clary's gaze as he begins pushing into her.

She feels amazing—tight heat wrapped around the head of his cock—and he wants to bury himself to the hilt, wants the friction of her walls gripping his entire length. But Clary makes a noise in the back of her throat, and she's biting her lip so hard it's turned white.

"You okay?" It's hard to keep every part of himself steady, including his voice.

"Yeah," she answers breathlessly, not convincing either of them. "It just feels strange. I thought it would hurt more—"

Her mouth drops open soundlessly as he breaks through her hymen and finishes filling her.

"—like _that_," she gasps, body tensing and eyes watering.

Jace kisses the skin just beneath her ear, tells her urgently, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I promise it'll get better."

She nods again, and he knows that Clary has entrusted herself to him completely. Her body is at his mercy, and she doesn't doubt him once. It makes him want to be perfect for her, to truly deserve her faith.

"No moving," she orders thickly. Her eyes disappear behind wet lashes, so she doesn't see Jace's nod. But when he nips at her chin and then her lips, she opens her mouth to him. As long as he can focus on this—the unhurried exchange of kisses—he's not completely overwhelmed by how it feels to be fully buried in her small, warm body and the need to explore her thoroughly.

And then Clary shifts her hips.

Jace moans as the sensation that shoots straight through his body and leaves him wanting more. "You're breaking your own rules," he points out.

"Shut up," she mutters distractedly, clearly concentrating on something he can't, and it makes Jace smirk. She's lucky that he loves that about her, that he loves her period. Otherwise this could be going _a lot_ differently.

There's another experimental roll of her hips.

"Clary," he begs.

She looks at him tentatively. "I think…I think I'm ready."

Jace nearly collapses on her in relief. "Thank Raziel," he mutters, which earns him a pinch in the arm from Clary. He can't help kissing her again.

Slowly he pulls out and then sinks back in. He repeats the motion, gaining speed and depth with each careful thrust. And the pace is surreally satisfying—torturous in that it's not getting him where he wants, but completely mind-blowing because if he could move like this with her forever, he would. He doesn't take his eyes off Clary. Her face is carefully neutral as he moves inside of her. Jace wishes she could experience _half _of what he's feeling. He promises himself that he'll make it up to her.

Soon, the tight grip she has on his shoulders begins to ease. Her hands slide down to the small of his back. She's relaxing beneath him. Her hips begin moving to meet his so that the combined thrust is deeper, stronger, more fulfilling. As he quickens his tempo, she moves to accommodate him. Their short, panting breaths begin to outpace the rain on the window and the steady creak of the bed beneath them. They find their rhythm and move together.

Jace is in awe. This is what making love feels like. He didn't expect it to actually _feel_ any different; the motions are the same. He's taking her body the way he's taken other girls' bodies, but it's never been this damn good, this satisfying. He wants to disappear inside of her entirely.

The sound of her saying his name over and over as he sucks on her neck and the pressure of her hands on his hips urging him faster all drives him steadily toward a height of gratification he's never reached before. His entire body tightens and shudders with his release as Clary's name passes between his lips.

When she doesn't come with him, he drops to the bed beside her and lowers his hand to the damp apex of her legs. This is one promise that he can keep.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

In the morning, things are sharper, brighter somehow. It's not a physical change. When she stretches in bed, she _does_ feel some soreness between her legs, but it doesn't account for the airy sensation of lightness in her chest or the contentment she feels at greeting the day.

Jace is lying on his stomach beside her, face turned away and arm folded beneath his head. Clary takes in his mussed hair and the pale gold planes of his back that dip down to where the sheet is draped low around his hips.

She's overwhelmed with the urge to paint him, then, in muted copper and cream. Oil paint on a small canvas to capture the intimacy of the room. Jace's sleeping figure would be first, then the bed, and then the morning sunlight that nearly washes the whole scene out.

There's a knock at the door. "Jace?"

Clary stills for only a moment before scrambling to her feet and dashing to the bathroom, snatching her t-shirt from the floor as she goes. Only once the door is closed quietly behind her does she pull the oversized shirt over her head and smooth down her hair as she tries to calm her pounding heart.

Sounds filter into her dark hiding spot. Jace moving on the bed. His heavy sigh before a less-than-charitable, "Gimme a moment."

Clary imagines him pulling on his discarded pants and her neck and cheeks flush.

The bedroom door opens. "Were you still sleeping? It's almost ten."

_Alec._

"I don't sleep. I wait." Jace sounds his usual calm and collected, and Clary wonders at his ability to act normally given the circumstances.

"Well, Dad has been _waiting_ for you in the weapons room for twenty minutes." After moving into the Institute, one of the first things Clary learned was that Alec's sense of humor rarely made an appearance before lunch.

"Huh. My clock must be twenty minutes slow."

"You don't have a clock."

"And if I did, it wouldn't run slow; it would run fast. Like me. You're absolutely right, Alec. Now, why don't you put us all at ease and go make sure that Izzy's clock isn't running completely backwards. It would certainly explain a few things."

"Just don't forget that—"

There's a distinct click of door closing, and Clary strains to hear anything in the abrupt silence. Just as she's about to risk pushing open the door, the knob twists beneath her hand, and light floods the bathroom. Jace is standing before her, tall, broad, and quite close.

Clary's throat feels constricted.

His face is smooth, unreadable, but his posture is tense, and she gets the impression that he's waiting for her to say something horrible.

Hesitantly she steps forward until she's close enough that that heat of his body seeps into hers. She raises a hand and touches his side, and the gesture is all that Jace needs. His arms come around her waist, capturing her to him as he lowers his face to hers.

When they kiss, Clary's entire body tingles, her bare toes curling against the tile floor.

"Good morning."

Jace grins as if it wasn't the most mundane thing for her to say. He mumbles his own good morning against her lips and presses her backwards against the bathroom sink. His hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt.

His searching fingers on her thighs take her straight back to last night, and she's flushed and needy in far too short a time. But once his hands settle on her bare hips, they don't stray. She exhales in frustration.

"I have to go meet Robert," he says, caught somewhere between disappointment at the missed opportunity and satisfaction at her obvious response to him.

"And I have to go see my mother." Clary knows there's a good chance they won't be able to be like this again until late that night, and she's reluctant to part with him at all.

He nods, hands abandoning her body to run through her wild hair. "Are you okay?"

Clary bites the inside of her lips and considers not asking the question that has been plaguing her since the night Jace was attacked. After last night she already has her answer, but a part of her still needs to hear him say it out loud. "What you said before about only loving me because of the demon blood…you didn't mean it, did you?"

Jace's hands go still in her hair. "I wanted to. It would make things easier, wouldn't it? If I were a monster and my feelings for you were monstrous, then I would just stay away from you, and you would never be hurt. It's impossible to keep my distance when you want me just as badly. It means there must be something redemptive about all of this."

Clary nods her understanding against Jace's chest. "Believe me when I say there is nothing demonic about you beyond whatever's physically in your blood. Say that you believe me."

He takes her face in his scarred hands. "I believe that you make me more human."

"Jace—" His name makes it past her lips only to be caught by his own as he kisses her again. She can't help winding her arm around his neck returning every bit of his passion. Kisses shouldn't make things like this better, but Jace's do. She feels his need for her and decides that everything else can work itself in time.

They should probably say more. There are words to be voiced, decisions to be made, and explanations to be given. Things are not what they were yesterday or even what they were last night—just the two of them and the rain on the windows. But if this is the one moment they'll ever have together without regret, they want to keep it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I appreciate people taking the time to review last chapter. I figured I'd lose most of you at "perceived incest" and the rest of you at "excessive dash usage," but some people actually stuck around till the end. lol. I loved hearing from you!

Again, I can't make promises about when the next chapter will be out, but it _will_ come. Thanks in advance for the patience.


	3. Part Three

Again, thanks to **amaggiepie** and **sunshiiine23** for doing the beta work on this chapter. They get all the credit for this being readable.

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART THREE**

There's a thrill in the secrecy.

It's not so much the prospect of getting caught as it is the prospect of _not_ getting caught; the thrill of being able to really do this for as long as they can keep it to themselves. Secrecy is not as easy as Clary had naively assumed it would be. Because it's not just sex. It's not something that starts when she slips beneath Jace's sheets at night and ends when she blinks awake in the morning. It follows her wherever she goes.

What she feels for Jace isn't something she can flip on and off whenever someone else is in the room. She has no practice masking her emotions; Jace is better at it than she is. So Clary avoids seeing Simon in person for several days until she can manage to think about Jace without blushing and grinning like an idiot. Simon knows her so well—just one look would give her away.

She divides her time among the hospital, training, and art club. Upon returning from Idris, Clary didn't given much thought to her art group at the community center. With Jocelyn comatose and a future as a trained supernatural warrior looming ahead of her, Clary had found the prospect of returning to her "mundane" routine of bi-weekly art classes all too surreal. She couldn't picture herself hunched over the old paint-splattered tables, sketching out a scene for her all-but-forgotten graphic novel.

But after the night Jace had returned to the Institute, injured and saying terrible things that froze her from the inside out, Clary wasn't able to endure the self-exile any longer. Art has always been the one way to express herself without restraint. There's never a lie in the works she produces. No one tells her that the feelings she's invoking are wrong. So the next day, after visiting Jocelyn in the hospital, Clary stopped by the community center and signed up for her old group, which met twice a week in the afternoons. Afterwards, she spent the rest of the day people-watching and penciling rough sketches in her book.

She had returned to the Institute late, when everyone was asleep—as planned—only to find herself knocking on Jace's door an hour later, restless and frayed.

Clary's face heats at the recollection of what happened next. The skin on the back of her neck prickles pleasantly, and the sensation shoots down her arms to her fingers, which quiver with the memory of sliding through soft hair and digging into warm hips. Clary absently touches her lips as she makes her way down the hall of the Institute, heading for the kitchen. It's mid-afternoon but, since she missed lunch, she needs something to snack on to hold her over until dinner.

She's about to turn the final corner when a pair of hands grab her from behind and pull her back through a door she didn't recall passing. Her body tenses. The door closes, and she's plunged into darkness. A defensive move Robert taught her last week springs to her mind; she grasps it with both hands like a lifeline. . Just as she's about to jab her elbow backwards, a familiar voice hums into her ear.

"Where are you going?"

Clary exhales and sags against him. "Jace, you almost gave me a heart attack."

His hold on her waist loosens. "Nonsense. People as young and healthy as you don't have heart attacks."

"It's an expression."

"Mundanes say the strangest things."

Clary turns in his arms, leaning back against the door. "I'm not a Mundane."

"No,"—Jace's fingertips gently touch her cheek—"you're not."

Now that Clary's eyes have had a chance to adjust to the darkness, she's able to make out the character of the room. It's small, not more than four feet wide and six feet deep. Shelves line the walls, making it feel even more cramped, and they're stocked with dark shapes that look like bottles and boxes. Something cold and plastic brushes against her leg. The smell of bleach hangs strongly in the air.

"We're in a cleaning closet."

Clary can feel the heat of Jace's body as he steps forward, pinning her between himself and the door. "Terribly cliché, isn't it?"

She can't help but be surprised. She's never seen any of the Lightwoods lift a finger to clean up—aside from washing their dishes after every meal—and she can't quite picture Maryse, Isabelle, Robert or Jace pushing a mop down the hall. But the Institute is huge. And spotless. So _someone_ has to be keeping it all in order.

"Do you ever have to use any of this stuff?" she wonders aloud.

He ducks his head towards hers, the gold of his eyes faintly visible in their new proximity. "Only when I've been bad."

"Maryse makes you clean when you misbehave?" Clary grins, amused at the prospect.

Jace smiles then, too. His grin is slightly dangerous and makes Clary's stomach tighten with anticipation. "Let's just say if she caught me doing this…" he trails off as he cups her face, callused hands simultaneously rough and soft against her jaw. Jace closes the distance between them and kisses her slowly, fiercely, as if he could consume her. This is the way she's become accustomed to being kissed, the kisses she's come to crave every time he touches her, no matter how innocently. Clary has to tip her head back against the door to meet his insistent lips and stands on her toes to return his fervor in kind. Her arms slide up around his neck and she presses her body tightly against his.

Jace breaks away just as Clary begins to feel lightheaded from lack of air. His quick breaths continue to caress her lips as he says, "I would be washing every plane of glass in the greenhouse for the rest of my life."

Clary nearly forgot what they were talking about—that they had been talking at all. "Hm." She pretends to consider the implication. "That sounds terrible. Maybe we should stop." She blindly gropes for the doorknob that she knows must be somewhere at her side, but just as she catches hold of it, her feet are promptly swept out from beneath her, and she doesn't even have time to protest before her back is flush against the door, her legs wrapped around Jace's hips. Clary has to brace her arms against his shoulders to keep from toppling sideways.

Jace grins at her startled expression. "Benefits outweigh the risks," he says by way of explanation and leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to her collar bone. His tongue flicks across her skin.

Her hands slide up into the short waves of his hair, caressing the back of his neck. "We're not doing this here."

"I believe we already are," he murmurs and brushes aside the material of her floral-print shrug, exposing the shirt underneath. His fingers skim purposefully along the low neckline as if to give her a chance to say _no_. As if she would. His fingers make a second pass and this time slip beneath the cotton to seek out her breast.

Jace makes a small, surprised noise in the back of his throat as he comes into direct contact with warm skin.

Impromptu clandestine meetings like this have become necessity over the past week. That first day they'd tried to play the part of brother and sister without slipping. Clary had diligently avoided looking at Jace, had refused to get too close and risk someone—_everyone_—seeing them for what they were. By nightfall her nails were bitten to the quick and she'd made her escape to Jace's room an hour before she should have. When Jace had pulled her to him then, it was the first time all day she hadn't been afraid to smile. So they'd begun taking advantage of the vast number of empty rooms the Institute had at its disposal, finding a few minutes to be together after training or a spare moment before dinner. Any time they were certain they wouldn't be caught—although Jace is more often certain than not.

These stolen moments have come to mean everything to Clary. To be able to drop all pretenses and just feel and do what she wants with Jace is all she really wants. She begins anticipating their encounters, finds herself restlessly waiting for the chance to be alone with him. It didn't take long for Clary to determine that things like layers of clothing tend to hinder these sporadic encounters. When they have the opportunity to be close, Clary wants to _feel_ the heat of his body and the scars on his skin. So she's taken to wearing skirts and dresses and tops that button. Today she's foregone wearing a bra. She tells herself she's just being practical. It's always the first thing to go anyway.

Now, seeing the way Jace stares at her exposed chest, she can't bring herself to regret the decision.

"What?" she asks innocently.

Of course, Jace sees right through the pretense. "I've corrupted you entirely."

"You're quick to take the credit." She captures his face between her hands and kisses him soundly. In the back of her mind, she knows this is insane. Anyone watching them would have trouble believing that before last week, she'd never been intimate with a boy beyond the tame kisses she had shared with Simon. A girl doesn't give up her virginity and turn into a wanton by the next morning. Jace shouldn't be able to drive her this crazy all of the time.

He smirks against her lips. "Credit and not blame, is it?"

Clary moans in response as he brushes his thumb across her hardened nipple. This time Jace is the one who kisses her, and he does it so well that she nearly forgets this is a bad idea. Then her stomach tightens and rumbles. She groans.

"Jace, I meant it when I said we aren't doing this now."

"You're hardly convincing." He rocks forward against her hips, and she has to bite her lip to keep from gasping.

"I mean it," she says between kisses. "I'm hungry."

"Me too, baby."

"Not for _that_." She laughs and gently pushes at his chest. He draws back reluctantly. "I skipped breakfast, and I need food."

Jace looks slightly incredulous. "Right now?"

"I can't do this with my stomach growling. It's embarrassing."

"What if I told you it turns me on?"

Clary affectionately swipes his bangs out of his eyes. "I would know you were lying just to get into my pants."

Jace sighs theatrically and lets her down onto her feet. Clary grasps his forearms until she regains her balance. "I can't believe you're choosing last night's lasagna over me."

"If you ever told me to stop taking off _your_ clothes because you needed to eat, I would understand."

"Be careful. I may put that promise to the test someday, when you least expect it."

Clary can't imagine Jace ever telling her to stop undressing him, and she doesn't think he can either.

After she's fixed the neckline of her shirt, Jace leans down to kiss her one last time. "I'll go first," he says. "Give me a minute before you leave. Just in case."

He's out the door without waiting for her response, and Clary is left alone in the darkness. She shakes her head and goes about straightening the rest of her clothes and smoothing down her wild hair. Once she's confident she no longer looks like she's been thrown against a wall in a fit of passion, she stands uncertainly in silence, not sure if it's safe to leave. She places her ear against the door and listens for footsteps. At first there's nothing, but then she hears Jace's muffled voice.

"I was walking by when I heard a noise coming from inside the closet."

Clary tenses and steps back from the door just as it swings open from the outside to reveal Jace, who's looking at her with furrowed eyebrows. Alec is standing behind him, looking equally perplexed.

"Clary? What on Earth are you doing in the broom closet?" Jace asks, looking genuinely surprised.

"I…I was…"

A slow, entertained smile creeps across Jace's face. He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

Clary wants to scream when she realizes this was all his design, but Alec is still there waiting for an explanation. She slips the cell phone from her pocket and holds it up for them to see. "I was having a private conversation."

Jace somehow manages to contain his amusement before asking, "Let me guess. Simon's band has finally turned someone deaf, and he needed your legal advice."

This earns a small smirk from Alec, and Clary rolls her eyes as she steps out into the hallway. "It wasn't Simon. It was Hayden."

Jace's smile falls away. "Hayden?"

"A boy. From my art group. He wants to meet me for a late lunch."

"Why did you have to talk about that in the closet?" Alex asks now that Jace has gone silent.

Clary shrugs. "That's not normally why he calls me."

Alec raises his eyebrows but doesn't comment. Meanwhile Jace, now appearing decidedly less smug, crosses his arms. "So you're leaving to meet him now?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll come with you."

"Jace…" Alec admonishes.

Clary narrows her eyes. "What? Why?"

"I want to meet this boy you're having…private conversations with." Jace's tone is no-nonsense.

"It's not really any of your business."

"It's my business that you're having a secret tete-a-tete with some guy who sounds like an asshat. And his name is _Hayden_. Very suspicious. I don't like it at all."

_This is ridiculous_, Clary thinks to herself and tosses her hands in the air. "I'm going to lunch. Whatever you do is up to you."

Jace grins winningly. "I'm going to lunch, too."

"Fine." Then she sees Alec watching them in bemusement. "But you're not sitting with us."

"I'll be staring then."

Clary scowls and stalks down the hall. She doesn't hear Jace pursuing her, but by the time she rounds the next corner the heat of his body is at her back. "I can't believe you just made me jealous of a boy who doesn't exist," he says quietly into her ear.

Clary stops in front of the elevator to hit the call button. "Who says he doesn't exist?"

"Me and the five minutes we spent in the broom closet not talking." Jace leans back against the wall beside the elevator. "That was clever, by the way. The whole phone call excuse. I should be worried that you can lie so convincingly."

"I wouldn't have needed to be clever if you hadn't set me up in the first place. And Hayden really is a boy in my art group. He has very nice eyes."

"I was curious to see how well you could pull it off." Jace frowns. "How do you know how nice his eyes are? Do you look at them often?"

The noisy rattling ceases as the elevator car comes to a halt. Clary pushes aside the grate and steps inside, waiting for Jace to join her. "Only when he holds my hands and recites romantic gothic poetry."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"What about this?" Clary turns over her sketchbook, holding it out for Magnus to see.

He finishes applying a second coat of lime green nail polish to his pinky finger before looking up. He considers the drawing briefly. "Cute face but too many clothes."

Clary drops the sketchbook back on her lap. "If I make him any more naked, people will think you're inviting them to an orgy."

His catlike eyes brighten. "It's been a while since I've hosted a good orgy. The Fair Folk always show up in droves. They bring their own music, too." Seeing Clary's aversion, he adds, "Not that the music is ever any good. All drums and screeching. Kills the mood, if you ask me."

Clary shakes her head. "Do you really want to throw an orgy for your birthday?"

The bottle of nail polish and the table tray it's sitting on both disappear, leaving behind a brief trail of undulating air—like an invisible flame. Magnus stands and stretches his long, lanky arms above his head, bright yellow track jacket rising to expose a shimmering spandex shirt underneath. "I suppose not. Alec would probably refuse to come."

Magnus moves to stand behind the couch, taking a second look at the drawing over Clary's shoulder. The page is turned landscape with a tall rectangular box to one side where the text of the invitation is meant to go. One the other side is a sketch of a man and a woman dancing provocatively together beneath a disco ball and a pink haze smoke. Clary taps her blue colored pencil against the paper as Magnus hums. "He can keep the jacket. Just get rid of his shirt, and we'll call it fair."

"Do you want me to use script or print for the font?"

"Whichever screams—" Magnus cuts off abruptly. His head is tipped almost comically to one side as if he's listening for something faint.

"What is it?" Clary asks.

"Nothing. We're just about to be invaded."

A beat later, the front door flies open, and Jace steps through, arms extended. "Honey, I'm home!"

Immediately, Clary's heart beats a little faster and her grip on the pencil tightens. As he walks into the apartment, her eyes sweep over his unruffled blonde hair and pristine Shadowhunter gear, checking for any signs of injury. Only once she's ascertained his wellbeing does she look to Alec and Isabelle, who trail in after him. The three of them had left the Institute only a couple of hours ago for a night of patrols. They weren't expected back until much later, and Clary wonders at them showing up at Magnus's looking as if they'd gone for a walk instead of a fight. Even their runes are still dark and unused.

"Let me guess. You've discovered my secret stash of gnome porn, and you've come to cart me away?" Magnus remarks dryly.

Jace sighs. "It's no fun when they confess before the torture."

He makes a beeline for where Clary is curled against the arm of the couch. And as she watches him come toward her so casually, she's half-terrified, half-hoping that he's going to forget everyone, forget everything and kiss her right then. But at the last moment he drops down beside her and takes the sketchpad from her lap.

"Would Alec be the one in charge of administering the torture?" Magnus asks brightly. "If so, I rescind my confession. I've never even seen a gnome a day in my life."

Clary looks at Jace looking at the sketch, and she's so engrossed in the way his fingertips skim over the fine, colored lines that she hardly notices Alec coming to stand beside Magnus or Isabelle hopping up onto a barstool. "This is good," Jace says genuinely. "But what on Earth is it for?"

"Yes, our Clary is very gifted," Magnus says, his arm draped around Alec's waist. "Which is why I've commissioned her to design the invitation for my party."

Isabelle visibly perks up. "Ooh. When?"

"Next Friday. 10 pm. Clothing is optional but frowned upon."

Clary rolls her eyes. "Magnus."

Magnus holds up a hand, the stack of rings on each finger glittering as they catch the light. "Just because we'll all be naked doesn't mean there'll be orgies."

Isabelle shrugs. "I'm in."

"What's the party for?" Alec asks, speaking for the first time since the group's arrival. Up until now, he's seemed distracted, looking worried in the way that he often does when he's thinking especially hard about something.

Magnus smiles. "My birthday."

Alec looks at him sharply. "You didn't tell me your birthday is next week."

Magnus redirects his attention to the shinning green of his nails. "That's because whenever we bring up my age, you get defensive and confrontational."

"I do not!" Alec jerks away Magnus's hold.

"You tell him."

"Shut up, Jace"

Jace, not looking at all bothered, relaxes further into the couch cushions, bringing his arm up to rest along the back, just behind Clary. She can sense his fingertips touching her hair. "Fine, but I was taking your side."

"There are no sides because this isn't a fight," Alec says, and everyone looks at him unconvinced.

Sensing that the situation is quickly deteriorating, Clary decides to run interference. "You guys were done with patrol pretty quickly. Slow night?"

"Slow _week_." Isabelle throws her hands up in exasperation. "I haven't seen a demon in days."

"Apparently Shadowhunters get cranky when they don't get to kill things," Magnus says as he reclaims his seat in the over-stuffed chair.

Alec eagerly picks up Isabelle's line of discussion. "It's strange. After the battle in Idris, there was a huge rise in demonic activity. Now…nothing."

"Unless,"—Isabelle uncoiles the electrum whip around her arm with a practiced snap—"Jace is sneaking out in the middle of the night to get them all for himself. He _has _been in a suspiciously good mood lately."

Jace hands Clary back her sketchbook and crosses his arms behind his head. "I can assure you that my good mood stems from far less…chaste activities."

Isabelle makes a face. Magnus props his elbow on the armrest, balancing his chin on the palm of his hand. "Keep talking."

Though no one is looking at her, Clary wants nothing more than to sink into the corner of the couch and disappear. And when she sees Jace open his mouth—to "keep talking" she assumes—Clary rises to her feet. "I have a pretty good idea of what you want the invite to look like, so unless there's anything else…"

Isabelle slides from her stool, landing elegantly on the three-inch heels of her boots. "I don't want to hear about Jace's _alone time_ either. Let's go. You boys have fun, now, and remember that threesomes aren't something you can take back."

Clary lets Isabelle loop her arm through hers and lead them towards the door. With a glance back over her shoulder Clary finds Jace's amused eyes on her.

Outside Magnus's apartment there's a brisk wind, and Clary pulls her sweater tighter across her chest. Sometimes winter feels closer than it actually is.

"I know that it's hard," Isabelle says once they've reached the dark, deserted street. They turn south towards the nearest subway station, and Clary waits for her to elaborate. She doesn't.

"What's hard?"

"Changing the way you feel about someone."

Clary pulls her arm free from Isabelle under the pretense of warming her hands in her pockets. She stares resolutely ahead at the upcoming streetlight, suddenly yearning for the safety of the group dynamic they just left behind. Talking to Isabelle one-on-one in the brashness of night makes her chest tighten with anxiety. "What do you mean?"

Isabelle, always blunt, doesn't shy away. "The feelings you and Jace had for each other before you found out you were siblings were strong. I could see it in the way you looked at each other." A lone car makes its way down the street, and they wait for it to pass before crossing. "He still looks at you," Isabelle continues on the other side, "but not like he's sorry that he's doing it. I think he's finally realized how pointless it is to want you. That's good for him. And for you."

It feels like her heart is pounding in her head instead of her chest, the sound of rushing blood drowning out all other sound. Isabelle's words sound distant, like a fairytale that's nothing more than fiction wrapped around a moral everyone already knows. Meaningless. An alternate universe where what's _good_ for everyone else is what's _good_ for Jace and Clary.

"You see that, too. Don't you?" Isabelle presses.

Clary swallows back the acid flavor in her mouth before responding. "Of course. We're just still getting used to being family, I guess."

Isabelle smiles, and Clary thinks she must be a better liar than she thought she was.

"I know what you need," Isabelle says, sounding excited. "Birth control and a hot date for Magnus's party." Her grin widens into a smirk. "Someone dangerous."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Clary's hands grip the back of the chair on either side of Jace's head, her fingers digging into the soft upholstery. Jace's eyes are squeezed shut and his lips slightly parted. Clary's knees brace against the seat cushion and she raises her body up and down in a slow, steady rhythm. Each of her quiet pants displaces the damp golden hair at his temple. She watches with languid fascination as a stubborn bead of sweat falls over the sharp cut of his jaw and slides down his neck to disappear beneath the collar of his shirt.

Quietly tucked away in the back of the library, Clary straddles Jace's lap as he fills her and leaves her empty, over and over. The friction of sliding over him makes her body tremble, and she's not sure how she's managed to keep this torturous pace.

Her thighs burn with the exertion, but she doesn't care. It's just so—

"So fucking good," Jace murmurs, opening his eyes slowly.

And it's too much for Clary—his tawny gaze saying things she can almost _hear_ and the tension of his body making her want to scream—so she closes her eyes and just focuses on the feel of him inside of her, the first time without any barrier between them.

Jace's hands move from her hips to the hem of the dress bunched around her thighs. Cool air finds damp skin as he gathers the fabric and raises it to her waist. She shivers.

"Look, baby." Jace's throaty plea sends her heart racing, but she doesn't open her eyes. "_Look _at us."

She tentatively licks the sweat from her lips and obeys, following his hooded eyes to where their bodies are joined. It steals her breath away, the sight of her body taking his in, over and over.

A sudden shift of her hips elicits a low moan from Jace. As his head falls onto her shoulder he breathes _faster_ into her neck. His urging hands return to the now-naked flesh of her hips and Clary lets him guide her into a quicker pace.

She's watching the backs of her eyelids again. Her head becomes so heavy, spilling over with _pleasure, pleasure, pleasure_, that she lets it lull backward and her body is all nerves and no bones. She feels _it_, that hot churning deep inside of her, growing, and building and compounding toward—

The _click_ of the library door opening tears into her awareness like a gunshot. She freezes above Jace, her hands now clutching the chair in fear instead of lusty abandon. She can't see past the rows of books, but there are definitely footsteps.

"I just don't see what the big deal is about herbal remedies if they do the exact same thing an _iratze_ can do."

"What if you're in a situation where you don't have your stele?"

"I'd never be that sloppy."

Isabelleand Maryse.

Clary is already looking around frantically for her underwear, but long fingers dig into her skin, keeping her exactly where she is.

"Jace!" she hisses, and his lips immediately close over hers in a searing kiss.

"I know," he mutters quietly after they part. His hold doesn't loosen. He resumes moving against her and his hands attempt to coax her tentative body to move in return.

"They'll find us," Clary whispers vehemently.

She pushes at his chest and attempts to rise, but only succeeds in giving him exactly what he wants: her body moving up his length before completely sheathing him again as she drops back into his lap.

He half-smirks, eyes still smoldering. "Kinda makes it more exciting, right?"

"More exciting? Jace, I—"

His left hand dips between her legs and finds her clit. He brushes her _just so_ with his thumb and her entire body goes taught. Jace presses his lips to her ear. "You can be quiet for me, baby, can't you?"

Clary can't find her voice, so she nods desperately, already moving over him again. He lowers his lips to her chest and sucks on her nipple through the thin cotton of her sundress. Clary's hands move from the upholstery to his mussed hair, holding his mouth against her.

She can still hear Maryse and Isabelle moving through the library, but their voices are distant and muffled by the blood rushing in her ears and the feeling of Jace moaning against her breast. She sucks in a sharp breath just as Jace goes tense and pulses beneath her. He works her clit as she rides his release, and she's coming undone within moments. Her teeth close around his shoulder to keep her from screaming.

Bit-by-bit the orgasm subsides, Clary going soft and pliant against Jace's chest as the rest of the world comes back into focus. First, she hears Jace's slowing breaths and then, beyond that, Maryse and Isabelle's unassuming conversation. Clary sighs in relief. Her nose brushes Jace's as she tips her face down to his. "You're crazy," she whispers against his cheek.

"And it's entirely your fault."

Shaking her head, Clary disentangles herself from his embrace, shivering at the coldness that seeps into her skin at the loss of contact. Her legs are weak and tremble beneath her when she stands, and Jace reaches out to straighten her wrinkled skirt so that it falls to her knees. As he stands and rights his jeans, Clary recalls having lost her panties somewhere in the Ancient History section. Retrieving them would mean risking discovery by Isabelle and Maryse. Clary bites her lip.

Jace's lips graze her ear. "I think I have what you're looking for."

She rounds on him, but he's already slipping the white cotton into his back pocket. _Give them to me_, she mouths silently.

Jace shakes his head, grinning. He leans down to retrieve his sweatshirt from the floor and holds it out for her to take. Clary shakes her head and leans in close enough to whisper, "That is _not_ a fair trade!"

He shakes his head again and brushes his fingers across her left breast. She shivers and looks down: a dark, wet spot has bloomed across the fabric where Jace's mouth had been moments ago. Clary sighs and accepts the sweatshirt. It's almost comically big on her small frame, but it does its job, and Jace uses the excess material to pull her against him and kiss her deeply.

He tastes salty and almost sweet in a way that's uniquely Jace. And though she should be worried about being discovered, her eyes slip closed, and she thinks nothing could possibly touch her when Jace is holding her like this—like she's the strongest, most precious person in the world.

And, with just a little subtle maneuvering, she's able to get her hand around to his back pocket where she saw him stick her—

"I don't think so," Jace murmurs and pushes her gently into the chair. He reaches for a book on the nearest shelf, tosses it to her, and then grabs one for himself. Settling into the nearest window seat, he begins talking loudly in a conversational tone. "Have you gotten to the part where the colossal glob of sea lettuce battles the giant sea cucumber? That's my favorite part. It ends with them turning into a giant tossed salad."

Clary glances at the upside down book in her lap. The title on the cloth cover is written in a language she doesn't understand—possibly Arabic—and beneath it is an image of ship with a tall mast and wide sails. She draws a finger over the embossed edges, even as she hears the soft click of Maryse's heels drawing closer.

"Jace. Clary," she says in surprise. "What are you doing back here?"

"Rereading the codex addendum." Jace holds up a thick paperback book. "They spelled 'incongruous' wrong on page 114, there's a misplaced modifier on 187, and on page 235 they—"

"Yes, well how astute of you. As long as you're both here, you might as well join Isabelle for her herbal remedy lesson." She waves them along, doing a double take when she sees Clary drowning in Jace's sweatshirt. "Are you cold?"

"I keep telling her to wear more layers," Jace sighs. "She won't see reason."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

It's not what he wants. Not really. _Clary_ is what he wants, and he wants her every minute of every day. At night she's his and no one else's, but when the sun comes up, it's as if they're living on borrowed time. Every moment alone together feels rare and breakable. He grasps those opportunities with both hands and holds them close so that they don't slip away. If it's not wrong to love Clary, then it's wrong to be so selfish with her. Either way, he's not at all sorry. If he can't have her all the time, he'll take her when he can. It's not everything he wants, but it's more than he deserves.

He hears his bedroom door open and close, followed by the sound of sound Clary's bare feet padding across the floor towards the bed. Jace finishes running the towel through his damp hair and then tosses it onto the counter. He leaves the bathroom to find Clary sitting on top of the bed covers, legs crossed beneath her and a book balanced in her hands.

She's still wearing the sweatshirt he gave her earlier, but the dress is gone, replaced with a pair of long flannel pajama pants. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail so that the pink color in her cheeks stands out. There's a brightness in her green eyes that he thinks he may have had a hand in, and the thought lightens the heaviness in his chest.

"I'm not sure I approve of your new choice in pajamas."

"Someone suggested I dress more warmly."

"Well, that someone was an idiot." Jace stops in front of her, brushes his fingers across her cheek because he can't help touching her whenever he has a chance.

"A cute idiot," Clary says. Beneath his thumb Jace feels the curve of her smile. He leans down and kisses it.

"I'm sure,"—his lips trail down to her neck—"what he really wanted to say was...'you are much too pretty for clothes.'"

Clary sighs softly, nuzzling her nose against his jaw. "Such a smooth talker."

"I've always thought so. You know, as a completely objective third-party."

When Clary shivers beneath his touch, Jace's entire body tenses with anticipation. It's a powerful, heady feeling that never diminishes no matter how many times they're alone together like this. He thinks this must be what it's like for his heart to want someone as badly as his body does. It's never less exhilarating or less vital. He could never get enough of her.

"I've been thinking…" Clary trails off as Jace pulls the sweatshirt collar aside to kiss her bare shoulder.

"About me and all of the naughty things I'm going to do to you, I hope."

Clary giggles—she's ticklish right there by her scar—and gently pushes him away. Decidedly not the reaction he was going for. "No. Not about that."

"Ouch."

"About the recent demonic activity—or lack thereof."

"Twist the knife a little deeper, why don't you?" Jace mutters and drops onto bed behind her.

Clary turns to face him. "Don't you think it's strange?"

"That you're thinking about demons while I'm lying half naked in bed with you? Yes."

Clary rolls her eyes, a sign that Jace is pushing his luck. "I'm being serious. You're not worried about it being so quiet?"

Jace shrugs. "Demonic activity is rarely consistent. It ebbs and flows naturally."

Clary looks skeptical. "And how often does it dry up completely?"

Jace doesn't have an answer. Honestly he's never seen the sort of quiet that they've experienced the last couple weeks. After the fight with Valentine, the demonic activity in New York had flared and then slowed to a trickle. But the Clave couldn't afford to look a gift horse in the mouth Not now, while they were still recovering and regrouping. "It could just be residual effects from when Valentine summoned the demons to Idris."

"Or…"

"Or it's not something for us to worry about," Jace says definitively. "We've filled our save-the-entirety-of-mankind quota. If something particularly nefarious is behind the lack of demonic activity, let the rest of the Clave deal with it. We've got more pressing matters."

Clary smiles when he says 'nefarious,' and he falls a little bit more in love with her. "Like what?" she asks.

"Like your clothing and how there is far too much of it."

"Actually,"—she reaches behind her back to retrieve a book—"we'll need clothes for what I have in mind."

Jace blinks back at her. "I don't understand."

"I want you to read to me." The pirate ship embossed on cover of the book shines gold in the dim light of the room, and Jace recognizes it as the book he handed her in the library, a book he hadn't chosen on whim alone. "From the illustrations it looks like a fantasy book," Clary continues, "but I can't read it, obviously. I think it's written in—"

"Arabic." Jace nods toward the lettering on the spine. "It's a collection of fairytales. Maryse used to read it to me when I first arrived here. It made her feel more useful, I think." And it had helped banish the nightmares he'd been plagued with at the time, replacing them with fanciful dreams of heroic huntsmen and malevolent soothsayers.

"And you can read Arabic?" Clary asks hopefully.

Jace shrugs his shoulders. "When the mood strikes."

"Then you'll read some to me now."

Jace eyes the book reluctantly. "I don't know…."

"Yes, you do," Clary assures him. "Because every time you finish a chapter,"—she lifts her chin—"I'll kiss you."

It's the purposeful lilt of the last three words that gets him. It sounds as if she's promising him something he'd be foolish to decline. He swallows. "What kind of kiss?"

She leans in and brushes her lips softy—teasingly—against his before pulling away.

"Hmmm," Jace hums thoughtfully as he scoots back against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest. "I accept the proposition, but on one condition."

Clary eyes him suspiciously. "What?"

"You don't wear any pants."

He expects an amused eye roll and a half-hearted comment about him being a shameless sex fiend, but she doesn't do either of those things. Instead, she reaches up beneath the bottom hem of the sweatshirt, hooks her thumbs into the waistband of the pants and shimmies them down her legs, kicking them off onto the floor. For a moment, he's so distracted by Clary crawling toward him in nothing but his sweatshirt and a pair of brightly striped underwear that he forgets everything about the book until she presses it into his hands.

"I think I might need a kiss to get me started."

She laughs but complies, kissing him much too sweetly before lying down at his side, head against his shoulder and hands wrapped around his bicep. Even though reading is the farthest thing from his mind, he opens the book—the one that had so quickly become his favorite after arriving at the Institute—and turns to the story he'd read most often. The words come rushing back to him the moment his fingers touch the page, and only Clary's warm breath against his skin keeps him in the here and now.

"What's this one about?" she asks.

"An angel who was stripped of his wings and barred from heaven to lead a tortured half-life on earth."

Clary's lips purse in a small frown. "These all have happy endings, right?"

"That _is_ the ending."

"But that's terrible!" Clary rises up onto her elbows and peeks at the page as if to decipher a different meaning from the Arabic words. "I thought these were fairytales. They're supposed to have 'happily-ever-after's."

"Not the ones Shadowhunters read." Jace reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "And you've met the faeries. They're not exactly sunshine and rainbows. Or when they are, they're sunshine that burns your retinas and rainbows that clash with your shoes."

"But what did he do that was so terrible?"

"Am I reading this or not?"

Clary sighs and drops her head back onto his shoulder. "Yes, please."

Jace smiles and returns to the book in his hands. "No one in heaven knew that the Angel Haldien had a secret. Each night, when he was meant to be comforting those in need of prayers, he descended to Earth to watch the young mortal girl he had fallen in love with against God's Law…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, especially those of you who I couldn't thank individually because you weren't signed in (or because you have PMs disabled). I appreciate you taking the time to drop me a line. If you have questions about the story, feel free to ask. I'll answer as long as I don't think it will give too much away about the plot.

Next chapter might take a little bit longer to get out. Just so you know. :)


	4. Part Four

Thanks go out to **amaggiepie** and **sunshiiine23** for doing the beta work on this chapter. And **pnai_87** deserves lots of hugs for continuing to discuss plot and character development with me. She keeps me in line. :)

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART FOUR**

"So, who is he?"

Clary looks up from the yellowed pages of the demon anthology to find Isabelle—as immaculate and trendy as ever in a pair of leggings and lacy mini dress—perched gracefully on the edge of Hodge's old desk. Clary didn't even hear her enter the library, and she's wary of the girl's intentions. The knowing quirk of Isabelle's lips is as pointed as the spiked, six-inch heels of her boots.

"It's a Gracken demon," Clary responds, purposely obtuse.

"Don't play coy. You know who I'm talking about." At Clary's blank expression, Isabelle rolls her smoky eyes. "The guy you're seeing. I didn't hook you up with birth control so you could pursue a life of chastity. Who is he and how serious is it?"

Clary _tries_ not to have an outward reaction, but Isabelle's widening smirk underlines her failure.

"I knew it!" she practically squeals. "What's his name? Have I met him? Well, I couldn't have met him because the only guys we've spent time with are…wait! It's not Meliorn, is it? I know he's cute and suave and everything, Clary, but he's got the Seelie Queen's scepter stuck so far up his ass he doesn't even—"

"I'm not interested in Meliorn, Isabelle. He's really not my type."

Isabelle scoots closer on the desk. "Then who is?"

Clary hesitates. She didn't really have a type before Jace, and saying she likes gorgeous blonde Shadowhunters with a sarcastic sense of humor and hidden insecurities about their self-worth might be pushing her luck. Isabelle clearly doesn't suspect her of something so unseemly.

"If you're worried about me telling Simon, that won't be a problem." Isabelle gives her blood red nails a cursorily glance. "He's been avoiding me."

Clary sidesteps the clear resentment accompanying the last part. "Why would I be worried about you telling Simon?" She's genuinely curious.

"Oh, maybe because he's still madly in love with you."

"Isabelle…"

"No, he gets it." Isabelle sighs as she hops to her feet. "He's been friend-zoned, and he's learned to deal. Hasn't done much to change his feelings though."

Since when did Isabelle know so much about what Simon was feeling? Since when did Clary _not _know what Simon was feeling? _Since you've been avoiding him_, she thinks automatically. In the past two weeks, she hasn't spent more than ten minutes with Simon in person—all by design, of course. But this is the first time she's actually thought about it long enough to miss him.

Isabelle is watching Clary closely. "Look, I'm not here to talk about Simon. I want to know about Hayden."

"Hayden?"

Isabelle grins. "A little hot pink-toed birdie told me that's the name of the guy you've been sneaking around with. And by 'hot pink-toed birdie' I mean Magnus."

Clary groans and puts her head in her hands. "Alec."

"Honestly, Clary, I'm offended you told him and not me," Isabelle says with a sniff and twirls a lock of hair between her fingers.

Clary looks at her from between her fingers. "I didn't tell Alec anything about Hayden."

"So there is a Hayden, and you did lose your virginity to him?"

"I really don't think—"

"I'm onto you, Fray." Isabelle gives her one last meaningful stare-down before sauntering toward the library doors, which she casually flings open. "Girls like you don't go around glowing like a witchlight unless they're getting properly fucked."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Jace doesn't quite catch all of Clary's rushed explanation in the elevator. She says something about Isabelle being the world's most relentless busy body and an unplanned encounter at her art class that nearly ended in disaster.

"…and she's there waiting outside of the building. Of course she just assumes Hayden and I are already seeing each other, and when she asks for his number, he actually gives it to her, which really isn't that much of a surprise considering she's Isabelle, but then when she texted him today and asked him to come along to Magnus's party…"

What Jace _is_ able to surmise by the end of the 30 second rant is that Clary has a date. He steps out into the sanctuary,Isabelle theunfortunate recipient of his scowl.

She's leaning against one of the pews, the stretchy mesh of her outfit shining silver in the dim lighting. "What crawled up your ass and died?" she says while yanking off a loose thread from her skirt.

"What were you thinking inviting a _mundane_ to Magnus's party?" Jace shoots back.

"Simon went when he was still human."

"Yes," Jace says dryly, "and by the end of the night he was a rat."

Isabelle tosses her hands in the air. "Well, he's fine now, isn't he?"

"He's a _vampire_."

It's the touch of Clary's hand on his back—fleeting but warm and familiar—that grounds him. She steps to his side, and suddenly the only urge he's fighting is to put his arm around her.

"Is Simon here yet?" she asks Isabelle, who immediately looks disinterested.

"I don't know. Didn't check."

Clary sighs the way she does when she's trying not to get angry, and Jace thinks he's not the only one with Isabelle on a shortlist of 'people to maim with a dull object.' Not giving Isabelle another glance, Clary starts off down the aisle towards the front door. As she goes, Jace's gaze falls to where her satin dress clings to the curve of her backside. He glances away quickly when Isabelle nudges him with her shoulder.

"Look. Magnus is a master of glamours," she says. "I mean, Clary _still_ doesn't have all her childhood memories back. Hayden will probably just think he's at a really strange costume party where there's entirely too much recreational drug usage. So just relax, okay? And don't ruin this for Clary. She really likes him."

Jace snorts. "According to who?"

"My intuition."

"The same intuition you rely on while cooking?"

Isabelle flips him the bird before strutting away. Jace follows more slowly, hands in his coat pockets. Outside on the Institute steps Clary is standing close to a boy about Jace's height with an athletic build, dark eyes set in a dark face, and hair buzzed close to the scalp. He's smiling easily at Clary even with Simon hovering awkwardly a step above them. Something he says makes Clary laugh, and Jace can tell from the way she tilts her head that it's genuine. The guy looks more like a professional rock crusher than an art club regular.

It's harder than usual for Jace to maintain a passive facade when Hayden and Clary turn toward him.

"Guys, this is Hayden. We used to go to school together," Clary says. "Hayden, this is my friend Simon. You've already met Isabelle. And this is Jace." Her tongue darts anxiously out across her lip. "My brother."

When Hayden extends a hand, Jace takes it, squeezing harder than he should as they shake. Hayden raises an eyebrow but doesn't flinch. "I didn't know you had a brother, C."

"I imagine there's a good reason she doesn't talk about him," Simon says, looking amused. "In fact, I'm sure of it."

"Probably because she couldn't find the words to do me justice. My brilliance is something best experienced in person." Jace's eyes flicker to Hayden. "You know, I'm not sure girls like being referred to as large bodies of water. They're _large_."

"Ignore him," Clary quickly cuts in, a hand on Hayden's arm. "He's just being smart."

When Hayden smiles in response, Jace decides he doesn't like him. Not a single bit.

"Nah. It's cool." Hayden shrugs and then bumps Clary's shoulder with his. "But maybe I should save the nicknames for when we're alone, huh?"

"And when would that be?" Jace asks sharply, hand subconsciously moving to where a dagger is tucked in the waistband of his jeans (even though they haven't seen more than a trace of a demon in the past two weeks, he refuses to be careless).

"Never if we spend the rest of our lives standing here," Isabelle says, sounding bored. "We need to leave for the party now or we're going to go from being fashionably late to just regularly late."

"Shit, I forgot there were chick rules for this sort of thing," Hayden muses. "I'll tell you what, Isabelle. If it gets to be too late, we'll just start a party of our own. The five of us at my place. My dad's at a conference all weekend."

As they start down the street toward the subway, Simon falls in step beside Jace, just behind Clary, Hayden, and Isabelle. "My first invitation to an orgy," he says. "Someone take pictures so I can scrapbook this moment later."

Jace has to tear his gaze from where Hayden's fingers are curled into Clary's shoulder to look Simon up and down apathetically. "Your first, really? I'm shocked."

"I imagine you get them all the time."

"Only when I go out in public."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

A bright green liquid sloshes over the top of the pitcher that Simon sets down on the paint-splattered tabletop, and Clary dives for her nachos to keep them from getting wet. Beside her, Jace laughs dryly.

"What? You didn't learn your lesson last time?

Simon slides into the seat next to Hayden, raising the dark bottle in his hand—which Clary knows contains animal blood—and gestures to the pitcher. "It's not for me. Magnus told me to bring it over." When they continue to look apprehensive, Simon adds, "He told me it was safe. Well, safe-_ish_."

Hayden doesn't need any more convincing and fills the glass tumbler in front of him. He shakes his head and laughs. "This party's pretty wild."

Clary silently agrees. Magnus has outdone himself this time. The entire loft is lit with black light which catches the neon paint that seems to have been splashed arbitrarily over the floors, walls, and furniture. The illuminated dance platform—something straight out of Saturday Night Fever (quite possibly the _exact_ same one)—takes up most of the space, crowding the DJ booth and open bar to the sides wide, open room. Downworlders mingle in a loud, chaotic mass of bodies that seems to pulse in time with the music pouring from the speakers.

Magnus and Alec are standing next to a table where a large cake in the shape and likeness of Chairman Meow is being sliced into pieces and set on individual plates. Clary hasn't had a chance to talk to them yet, but it looks like they've gotten over whatever tiff they had the week before and seem to be having a good time mingling with guests.

_At least some people are enjoying themselves,_ Clary thinks sullenly. Between Jace's passive aggressive attitude, Hayden's flirtatious advances, and Simon's poorly concealed amusement with it all, she's got a headache throbbing painfully at her temples. She sighs and takes a sip of her water.

Jace's hand settles on her bare knee.

"You two don't look anything alike." Hayden is watching them from across the table. His glass is empty again. He's been his usual laidback self all evening, though the food and drinks have added a shine to his eyes that isn't normally there. "I mean, I never would have guessed you're related."

"But they are," Simon says, taking a sip from his bottle of blood and scanning the crowd—probably looking for Isabelle, who had disappeared the moment after they arrived.

"You,"—Hayden points at Clary—"look just like your mom. So your brother must look—"

"Like our father," Jace finishes, voice cold. His touch, however, remains light on her skin as his hand slips up beneath the hem of her dress. Clary shoots him a startled look, but he doesn't so much as glance at her.

Hayden shakes his head and pours himself another glass. "I could've sworn you were an only child."

Clary instinctively parts her legs as Jace's hand slides between them. Still looking at Hayden, he shrugs one shoulder. "It's a recent development."

"We didn't know about each other until this past s-summer." Clary sucks in a sharp breath when Jace's fingers brushes her underwear. The teasing pressure against the dampening cotton has her hot and uncomfortable in her seat, and she quickly pushes his hand away beneath the table. From the corner of her eye she catches Jace's smirk—the first genuine smile she's seen from him all night.

Before she can change her mind, Clary lays her hand on his jean-clad thigh. His grin falters.

Across the table, Hayden raises an eyebrow. "That had to be something. Finding out all this time you've had sibling you didn't know about."

"Mmm." Clary's only half listening, too focused on tracing the inseam of Jace's pants to his crotch. She scrapes her nails along the denim.

Jace is out of the booth and on his feet in a flash of movement. His eyes catch Clary's for the briefest moment, just long enough for her to see the desire and frustration burning in them. Then he gives some excuse to Simon and Hayden before escaping through the crowd. Clary blushes into her drink, dizzy with the risk she took. She's so busy chastising herself that she doesn't see where Jace takes off to. She misses Simon's dry comment and subsequent disappearance. She sits there, arousal battling against mortification until Hayden is standing before her asking her to dance.

She has every reason to say 'yes,' and she does.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Jace is familiar with the urge to cause bodily harm. It's what makes him such a successful Shadowhunter. The means is just as enjoyable as the end. Killing is as liberating as knowing that there is one less demon in the world. He's like Valentine in that way. Maybe it's his father's influence or maybe it's his demon blood, but Jace can't help the desire to _hurt_ that overcomes him as he watches Hayden and Clary dance from the bar.

Hayden's not doing anything wrong. He's showing interest in a girl that he likes, an _available _girl as far as he—or anyone else—knows. And if he were to disrespect her in some way, Clary would be able to handle him herself. She may be small, but she could handle a mundane like Hayden. A boy without training. Without runes.

No, Jace doesn't want to hurt Hayden. He wants to walk over to where he's standing with his hands on Clary's waist, take her into his own arms and kiss her there in front of everyone. He'd kiss her the way he does when they're alone—deeply and with all the honesty in his bones. But it would be different, too. There would be a simplicity to it, something that said he could kiss her again anytime he wanted, and no one would try stopping him.

But he can't. Instead he watches someone else act in his place. Do the things he wants to do. Hold her body against his. Whisper in her ear. Touch her hair without a reason. It's as if Jace is being punished. And maybe he deserves it, but Clary doesn't. She deserves every bit of happiness and certainty the world has to offer a person, and yet she has to hide and be ashamed of her own feelings. So when Jace yearns for a face to bury his fist in as he watches her move tentatively in the circle of Hayden's arms, it's because he's aware of the injustice they've been done. Someone ought to be held accountable.

"This needs to stop. Right now."

Isabelle has joined him at the bar, skin damp with sweat and hair beginning to go limp. She's spent the majority of the night dancing or exerting herself in other…physical activities. Her dark eyes are bright, and there's no doubting that this is Isabelle's natural environment.

"Me sitting?"

"No. This protective big brother routine. It was kinda cute when you puffed out your chest and gave Hayden the evil eye earlier, but it's getting obnoxious. Loosen up. Enjoy yourself. If Hayden and Clary are going to have hot, hot sex tonight, you being surly isn't going to stop them. Get something to drink, find a pretty vampire, and—"

Jace's fist slams onto the bar top, causing her to jump. "Stop it, Isabelle," he growls. "I don't need any of your bang up relationship advice."

Her eyes narrow into black slits. "Excuse me for not wanting to watch you sulk and ruin a perfectly good party."

Jace laughs darkly. "Is that it? I'm ruining the ambiance?" His gaze slides past her to where Clary and Hayden have been dancing for the past three songs. But there's no familiar flash of red hair and pale skin. Jace quickly scans the rest of the dance floor, but Clary and Hayden are gone.

A moment later Jace gets to his feet, but when he passes by Isabelle, her hand shoots out to grab his arm, tugging him around to face her. She stares him down there in a dark crowded room with trashed Downworlders dancing and laughing around them. If Jace were anyone else, he'd be intimidated by the unadulterated intensity in Isabelle's eyes.

"She's your sister," she says evenly, and Jace flinches at the word. "She's pretty, and nice, and powerful. Boys are going to notice her, and she's going to notice them. Sooner or later she's going to meet another Shadowhunter, and she's going to feel for him what she used to feel for you. They're going to date, and, just maybe, they'll fall in love. They'll get married, have lots of red-headed kids, make their own family. And she'll be happy. Like she deserves to be. And you know, Jace? You can be happy, too."

Jace moves to pull his arm away, but Isabelle's grip only tightens.

"And you won't have to worry about me giving you any more advice after this. I'm not going to keep babysitting you two. But our family is hanging together by a thread, and I swear by the angel, Jace,"—she leans in closer—"if you do anything to finish us off, I will personally hunt you down and beat you until you regret it."

Jaw clenched, Jace jerks free of Isabelle's lax hold. "Ironic, isn't it? You acting as the authority on lasting, happy relationships, when the longest you've ever been with someone is fifteen minutes in the Institute's tool shed."

Isabelle's wide, dark eyes follow Jace as he turns and walks away.

He's grateful for the deafening music and the accompanying roar of voices as he pushes his way through the crowd. The noise drowns out Isabelle's words as they play over in his mind, and all he has to focus on is the insistent need to find Clary. He covers the main room in under a minute, and the rest of the doors in the loft are locked. His desperation only grows, and Jace makes his way outside…and nearly collides with Hayden who's standing just on the other side of the apartment's back door. He opens his mouth to say something, but Jace's attention has already moved to Clary, who's leaning against the metal grating of the steps' landing. Her hands are wrapped around the railing in a white-knuckled grip, eyes wide and staring down into the back alley as her chest rises and falls in shallow breaths.

Jace has Hayden thrown back against the wall without a moment's hesitation.

The other boy is taken aback. "What's your problem!"

"What did you do to her?" Jace's hands clench in the material of Hayden's shirt, keeping him pinned to the front of the building. He's waiting for the asshole to say _one_ word, give him _one_ reason to put his fist through his face just like he's wanted to do all night.

"Man, I didn't do anything," Hayden says, voice low in warning. Jace's entire body tenses with anticipation at the unspoken threat. "Get off me."

"Jace, stop it." Clary moves to stand beside them, face white as she nervously bites at her lip. "He didn't do anything."

When he doesn't move right away, Hayden forcefully brushes Jace's hands away. Jace lets him, moving closer to Clary as he takes a step back. Blindly, he reaches for her hand and catches her wrist instead.

Hayden pushes off from the wall. "Look, we were just dancing when Clary saw something and started freaking out about it."

Jace looks to Clary, who still seems shaken.

"I thought—No, I know," she begins but then shakes her head. "I need to talk to Jace. Alone."

By the door Hayden sighs, and Jace hates the way his gaze softens when he talks to Clary. "You alright?"

Clary nods while nervously tugging at her dress. "I'm sorry about running out on you in there."

"Don't worry about it." Hayden waves off her apology. "I'll just be inside."

Jace returns the challenging look Hayden gives him before ducking through the door, and the moment he's gone Jace mutters, "As far as pretend boyfriends go, I don't like him one bit. I want to be included in the screening process for the next one. I'm thinking someone shorter, who doesn't look like he could successfully pole vault over the Statue of Liberty—"

"Jace." Clary's hands encircle his wrists, tugging him down toward her until he's face to face with her wide green eyes. The fear he sees there strikes him cold. "Inside, while we were dancing, I swear I saw…" She trails off shaking her head.

Jace takes her hips and pulls them against his, shivering when their bodies align. "What's got you spooked, huh?"

She licks her lips, takes a calming breath before looking him squarely in the eye. "I saw Sebastian."

Jace stares back at her, stomach twisting at the name but not truly comprehending. "Sebastian?"

"Yes. Sebastian Verlac."

He shakes his head sharply. "That's not…that's not possible."

"I know what I saw," she says. "It was him standing there in the crowd. Just watching me. I turned around and when I looked back I saw him walking out this way."

"Someone who looks like him," Jace insists, everything in his being rejecting the plausibility that that _murderer_, Valentine's lapdog, had made it out of Idris alive. Jace can still recall the satisfaction he had felt when he sunk a blade into the other boy's back. No kill had felt more justified. More final.

But Clary shakes her head. "I'll never forget his face," she admits. "And it _was_ him. I know it. I wasn't imagining it, either."

Jace feels nauseous. "Clary…"

The back door opens, and Clary and Jace jump apart as a group of vampires exits. They laugh and stumble out onto the rusted stairwell in an inebriated mass. One of the men has red and orange streaked through his hair and whistles while eyeing Clary's legs as he goes by. "You know if those aren't busy later, I've got somewhere for them to be."

Jace rounds on him, but the lone female of the group snakes her way between them, a claw-like hand on Jace's chest. She smiles up at him with thin, red lips. "Of course, you're invited, too, gorgeous."

Jace dislodges her hand in disgust, causing the vampires to erupt in laughter as they continue on down the stairs. Their high-pitched voices peal through the night before getting lost in the roar of motorcycle engines. Jace curses under his breath and runs a hand angrily through his hair.

Beside him, Clary doesn't miss a beat. "We should check the club again, and make sure he's not still here. Maybe Magnus can do a spell to see—"

"Let's go." Jace grabs Clary's hand and begins leading her down the stairs.

Clary digs in her heels on the first step. "What? Where?"

'"Let's get out of here. Go somewhere we can be alone."

"Alone?" she echoes incredulously. "But…Sebastian. Jace, we can't just _leave_. What if he's still here? We need to tell the others."

Jace stops and turns. Clary's on the step above him, bringing her face level with his. Standing this close he can see her perfectly, even in the poor lighting. The makeup Isabelle had painstakingly applied at the start of the evening is now slightly smudged and worn from the heat inside. It's like her mask is slipping away just for him. He gets parts of her that no one else does. Parts that are only his.

"We will. I promise," he says, running his fingers over the hair at her temples. "But if Sebastian _was_ here, he's gone now. I just tore apart Magnus's apartment looking for you. No Sebastian. Five minutes won't change that."

"But—"

He kisses her urgently, not pulling away until she relaxes against him, mouth parting and hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders. "I need you," he mutters along her jaw. "I need to be _us_ right now."

"Now?" Clary sighs and glances wearily at the door. " Jace…"

He can already hear her calling out his name for another reason. With some subtle maneuvering, he's gripping the backs of her thighs beneath her dress. He nuzzles his lips against her ear. "I'm tired of pretending I don't want to take you to the nearest dark corner and fuck the word 'sister' out of you."

Her breath hitches in a small gasp, and dull nails bite into his skin. Jace is rarely so blunt about his near-constant physical need for her, not because he thinks it would frighten her, but because it frightens him, himself. She's convinced herself of his goodness, and he wants to prove her right so badly that he tries to hide the darker things, like how he's the sort of person who gets off imagining his sister on her knees, mouth wrapped around him, and how he's stopped feeling the least bit guilty about it.

He can tell the moment she relents, the instant she forgets about everything but him. Her body falls into his, soft and giving. "Five minutes," she says, "and you better make it worth it."

"When have I not?"

[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]

Simon expects the worst when Jace and Clary stop by the table looking like they just trundled through an eighty mile per hour wind storm. They're both flushed, and while Jace's hair is its usual casually-tousled self (a style which Simon privately calls the _douche_do), Clary's hair is hanging around her shoulders in a tangled mass of red waves that won't get straightened out until she washes it next. But Simon happens to know for a fact that there are no eighty mile per hour winds outside. In fact, there aren't even five mile per hour winds. So he knows it's something else. _The_ something else. The something else which shouldn't be something at all anymore.

Clary has that anxious expression on her face as she opens her mouth, and Simon braces himself for the _I'm sorry, but my brother is the one I want_. So he's surprised and more than a little relieved when Clary wraps her small hand around his own and pulls him to his feet.

"Have you seen Isabelle?" she asks.

"I have. She growled at me." As much as Simon likes Isabelle, she's probably the most confusing female he's ever met. She's either hitting on him or just plain hitting him, and he's not really sure which is less terrifying.

"We need to find her. And Alec and Magnus."

"Oh no. Did Hayden get turned into a rat?" Simon looks around for the boy he'd known since middle school but had never talked to before tonight. Hayden might be in Clary's art club, but that was largely because his cheerleader ex-girlfriend made him join freshman year. After they broke up, he decided to stay and date his way through the surprising number of attractive female members (although he hadn't paid Clary much attention until recently). Needless to say, he and Simon didn't exactly run in the same circles. But aside from Hayden being one of the obnoxiously entitled seniors on the varsity basketball team, Simon really couldn't say anything bad about him. And he wouldn't wish rat-hood upon anyone.

Clary stops walking so quickly Simon almost runs into her. "What? No. Haven't you seen him?"

"Not since you two started dancing."

Clary opens her mouth to say something, but Jace cuts her off. "Over there," he says, motioning to the bar, where it's impossible to miss the glittering spikes of Magnus's hair and Alex's tall, hunched figure.

That determined glint is back in Clary's eyes, and she hauls Simon forward, Jace following more leisurely. It's the most relaxed he's looked at night, and it brings back Simon's anxiety. When Jace looks that careless, it usually means he's just had a secret rendezvous with an evil overlord or is calculating the best way to piss off a pack of beefy werewolves. He leans back against the bar top, ankles crossed, even as Clary pounces on an unsuspecting Alec.

"Where's Isabelle?" she asks, as soon as they're close enough to be heard over the music.

"Um. I think I saw her—"

"Isabelle? Pssssht." Magnus wobbles sideways on his stool, leaning across Alec to get closer to Clary. "How about that delicious hunk of man meat you brought with you? Tall, dark, and angular. The invitation didn't say anything about brining your own snack, cupcake. And you should know, because you wrote it."

Clary wrinkles her nose. "Are you drunk?"

"Absolutely not." Magnus sounds indignant as he tries to sit up straight in his seat. Alec keeps a hand on his arm to steady him. "High Warlocks of Brooklyn don't succumb to such base...things. We're above drunkenness."

Jace smirks. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

Clary looks like she's either about to burst into tears or start shooting fireballs from her eyes—Simon's not quite sure which. "Jace, you could take this a little more seriously considering—"

"Finally, I see the family resemblance." Isabelle appears behind the group, a glass of something blue in her hand. "Apparently Morgensterns have a knack for sucking all of the fun out of social gatherings. It's Magnus's birthday party, Clary. He's _supposed_ to get wasted."

"I'm not wasted," Magnus denies adamantly.

"Yes, you are," Alec says, shaking his head. "I told you those five o' clock cocktails were a bad idea."

"But they were so _pink_…"

"Can everyone just stop!"

Everyone looks at Clary, including Simon, who hasn't seen her this riled up since the time she tore a 12 foot hole in Valentine's metal ship. He's suddenly nervous for the stool she's gripping.

"I saw something," she continues. "Or, really, some_one_."

Magnus perks up. "Angelina Jolie?"

"No," she says impatiently. "I saw Sebastian."

There's a beat when no one says anything, when no one comprehends…

Then Isabelle goes stiff as a board. "Sebastian?" she hisses. "What kind of sick joke are you trying to make?"

"It's not a joke. I saw him when I was dancing."

With the flip of a switch Alec's gone from concerned boyfriend to focused hunter. "Where did he go?"

Isabelle scoffs. "She didn't actually see him."

"I followed him outside," Clary says over the top of her. "Out the back. But then he disappeared."

Alec gets to his feet. "But he couldn't have gotten far."

"You can't be serious, Alec." Isabelle bristles, and Simon wouldn't trade places with Alec for anything. "I saw Jace toast his ass. He's _dead_."

He only shrugs. "There's no harm in making sure."

"Actually," Clary begins reluctantly. "I saw him about ten minutes ago."

Simon blinks in surprise. "And you waited to tell us a sociopathic murderer was here because…"

He swears he can feel the temperature of her body increase even though they're barely touching. Her tongue darts out over her lips before she replies. "Well, Jace—"

"I didn't think she actually saw him," Jace says, pushing off from the bar. "I still don't."

Clary's mouth falls open in a small, disbelieving 'o,' and Simon lays a hand on her shoulder. "I really don't think that's something Clary would lie about."

"I don't think she's lying," Jace says easily. "I just think she saw something that wasn't there."

Simon isn't impressed. "So you think she's crazy."

Jace looks irritated. "Do I need to be here for this conversation, or are you going to talk for both of us?"

"I told you I know what I saw," Clary cuts in before Simon can respond—and it's probably for the best because Simon doesn't have a witty retort.

"Yes. But what you saw wasn't real." Jace states it like a fact, as if he's pointing out how the grass is green.

"He certainly _looked_ real."

Magnus, who has been making drinks rapidly appear and disappear in front of him for the last minute, stops snapping his fingers long enough to comment. "You have faerie hallucinogens to thank for that."

"What?"

"I just had to kick out half a dozen Fey after I caught them putting a little something extra in the fog machine." He sighs and waves his hand dramatically. "Apparently my party wasn't fun enough on its own merit."

"I'm having fun," Alec assures him.

Clary puts her hands on her hips. "And it doesn't seem strange that I'm the only one _hallucinating_?"

Alec looks thoughtful. "You don't have the permanent runes that protect most Shadowhunters from the effects of something so low key."

"And," Magnus half-slurs, "you aren't the _only_ one. A couple of elves were dancing near you, and now they're convinced that they're two hearty explorers who've discovered a den of giants, completely ignorant of the fact that they've been eight inches tall their _entire lives_."

Jace flashes a toothy grin. "You know what else is eight inches?"

Clary practically fumes in anger, which is better than her saying 'yes,' Simon supposes. But then she shrugs off his hand and moves away. "I think I'm going to go hallucinate somewhere else."

Simon doesn't spare the others a second glance before following after her. Their progress is slow, Clary struggling to shoulder her way through the enthusiastic crowd of dancers.

"Don't let them get to you. It's like a Shadowhunter_ thing_ to be socially handicapped when it comes to stuff like tact, sensitivity, and more general feelings of empathy." As they pass one of the speakers, he has to practically yell in order to be heard. "Or, you know, that could just be a Jace thing that I've subconsciously projected onto an entire race. In which case…my bad."

Clary stops in front of a wooden crate labeled 'acoustics' and steps up onto it. Simon reaches out to steady her. "I don't want to talk about it," she says. "Have you seen Hayden?"

"Tall, dark, and stared at your chest all evening? I may recall seeing someone of that description."

She scans the packed apartment for several moments. Simon doesn't bother pointing out that it would be a lot faster if _he _was the one standing on the box. "He did _not_ stare at my chest."

"No. But he wanted to. I could tell."

She points towards the back of the room. "I see him. Back at the booth."

"I think that level of restraint qualifies him as dating material, right?" Simon helps her back to the ground where she wobbles on her heels before regaining her balance. "I mean, if you're interested in him being dating material that is."

"I'm not," she says without having to think about it.

Simon shakes his head, amused. "I didn't think so."

Clary doesn't take off right away for the booth and Hayden. Instead she looks at him, Simon, as intently as she studies a painting she's seeing for the first time. She has an uncanny eye for art, an ability to perceive just what an artist was attempting to express through his work. Simon feels her using that gift on him now, deciphering things he probably isn't even aware of himself.

"You know me better than anyone," she says finally, eyes soft. "I think you always will."

Simon understands. "It's my job to know you." He takes her hand. "Just in case you forget something important."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Sorry for long-ish wait on this chapter. But hopefully it was worth taking the time to make the chapter better. I really appreciate everyone leaving me feedback. I get rediculously excited when you talk to me. xD


	5. Part Five

My beta team **amaggiepie** and **sunshiiine23** worked their usual magic with this chapter, and they deserve all the kudos I can give. Thanks, ladies.

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART FIVE**

Clary used to shudder every time she walked into a hospital. There's something unsettling about the alien white halls, staffed by unnaturally clean and put-together people. It's always made Clary self-conscious about her perpetually untamed hair and the dirt beneath her fingernails. But now, when Clary walks through the automatic doors, she hardly takes note of her surroundings. The route to her mother's private room is worn into her bones, and she doesn't dally as she follows the long hallway to the elevator and takes it up three floors.

At first it was hard for Clary to sit by Jocelyn's bed for any length of time. The resounding silence was so disheartening she didn't understand how Luke had managed to do it day in and day out for as long as he did. With Luke in Idris, Clary is her mother's only visitor, and she's come for an hour nearly every day for the last two months. It's still painful seeing her this way, and Clary always leaves feeling heavier than when she arrived, but the words come more easily than they once did.

She tells Jocelyn the little things, details no conscious person would sit still long enough to listen to. She tells her what she ate for dinner, the color of the sky outside, the latest move she's learned in training, and the song that was playing in the coffee shop on the corner. But Clary tells her the big things, too. She has a lot to say about Luke's abandonment, Jocelyn's years of deception, and the upside down world that is now her life.

She tells her about Jonathon, but not about Jace. It's as if they've become two separate people to Clary. Jonathon is her brother, the son Jocelyn thought she lost, the one she kept in a box and quietly grieved for years. A boy who is nothing like his father, even if he has every reason to be. Jace is the boy she loves, the person she sleeps beside at night and smiles with during the day. He's an angel who thinks he's demon because blood is thicker than anything. He makes Clary feel impossibly full of life and love, and Jocelyn will never know that.

"You'll get to meet him when you wake up," Clary says while squeezing her mother's limp hand. "He doesn't ever come with me because he's afraid, I think. He's not sure how to feel about you right now. But once you're back and he gets to know you, it'll be better."

_Once you're back. _ It strikes Clary as something from a fairy tale, as purposely vague as _once upon a time_ or _they lived happily ever after_. It's the type of thing you say without actually believing it. The more time that passes, the more hallow the words sound as they leave her lips. She was so certain when she left for Idris that she would come back with a cure. Arriving at the Wayland manor only to find the Book of the White gone from its hiding place was crushing. And Clary would have broken down in tears there on the library floor had they not then stumbled upon the captive angel.

"Magnus is still looking for it," Clary assures her. "But there's not much he can do until someone tries performing one of the spells from it." Clary prefers not to think about it too much because it makes her feel incredibly useless knowing all she can do is wait and hope that when someone decides to use the book, Magnus or one of his contacts will detect it.

After glancing at the clock, Clary tightens her hold on Jocelyn once more before getting to her feet. "I'll be back tomorrow," she says and runs her fingers lightly over Jocelyn's hair even though it's perfectly neat against the pillow. "If Luke sends a letter tonight, I'll bring it to read to you."

She leaves the room while reflecting on the contents of Luke's last letter. He sends one every week, and they're all more or less the same: a brief, generalized description of the Clave's activities followed by an inquiry into Clary and Jocelyn's wellbeing. By nature Luke isn't a talkative person, and that's when it's face-to-face. Over the phone and in letters he's even more tight-lipped. But in the letter Clary received from him last night, he made a comment of particular interest.

_Demon activity has increased all over the world since the battle at Idris. Everywhere, except in New York._

Clary wrote back right away asking for more details, and she hopes to have some answers sooner rather than later. Lost in thought as she exits the hospital, Clary doesn't notice Jace fall into step beside her until he speaks.

"Will you be done punishing me anytime soon?"

Clary only allows herself a brief glance over at him, and she's still struck by how handsome he is in just a pair of worn jeans and leather jacket, the brisk wind whipping through his hair. "I'm not punishing you," she says evenly, looking at her shoes as she takes the steps down to the street.

Jace doesn't touch her but follows so closely she catches faint traces of his aftershave. "Really? Because you avoiding me for the past two days _feels_ an awful lot like punishment."

"I was spending time with Simon."

"At night?"

At the intersection, Clary has to stop, and she really has no choice but to look at Jace, who's staring down at her without a trace of amusement or sarcasm. His eyes are pale and rimmed with shadow, and there's something so disheartening about the grim line of his lips. It makes her think he hasn't smiled all day.

"I couldn't sleep," he tells her and steps forward, hand raised. His fingertips stop just shy of her face. "I'm used to you being there, and you weren't. So I couldn't sleep."

Clary bites at the inside of her lip, unable to look away when he's staring at her like that—completely open, defenses nowhere in sight. "I couldn't sleep either," she says quietly.

Finally he touches her, brushes his knuckles along her cheek. "Then why—"

"Because I was mad at you. I still am. Sort of." She's only absently aware of the traffic light changing and the people around them crossing the street. She's far too distracted by Jace and the fact that she hasn't kissed him since Magnus's party two nights ago.

"I'm sorry."

"For not believing me or for waiting to tell me that until after we had sex?" Clary's surprised by the hurt in her own voice and the way it catches on the last word.

Jace's eyes crinkle in confusion. "Neither."

Clary pulls his hand away from her face. "You shouldn't touch me like that."

Jace leans forward then, remembering himself, rocks back on his heels. He looks at their surroundings as if noticing them for the first time. "I won't apologize for not believing you when I suspected you were under the Fey's influence. I turned out to be right."

"And you couldn't have mentioned your suspicions when I first told you I saw Sebastian instead of waiting until _after_ I let you—"

"Is that what you think?" Jace cuts in, and Clary can't decide if he's offended or amused. "That I wanted to have one more go at it before you stopped talking to me for days?"

She tries to fight down the clogged feeling in her throat which means she's close to tears. She's being silly. Jace makes her silly. "Why else wouldn't you just tell me?"

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. "I didn't even know about the hallucinogen until we went back inside, and I overheard a couple of vampires having a good laugh about it. I took you in that back alley because I didn't care about Sebastian—real or not. I just wanted to be with you. That's all I ever want. And I'm not sorry about it."

Clary knows that if they were alone right now, Jace would take her in his arms, maybe rest his forehead against hers, until she melts into him. But they're not alone, and Clary's melting with nowhere to go. "That's all I want, too."

Jace grins. "Go out with me."

"Go out with you?" she echoes curiously.

There's something boyish about the way he shoves his hands into his coat pockets. His smile broadens. "Yeah, let's go out."

"You mean...like a date?" The word stirs a strange fluttering of excitement in her stomach, and Clary bites her lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. She's never been on a date before. In the brief time she and Simon had been a couple, they never went out anywhere they didn't usually spend together. In fact, nothing much about their relationship changed aside from the kissing and hand-holding.

Taking advantage of the brisk November weather, Jace moves closer to Clary and makes a show of pulling the hood of her jacket up over her head. While tucking in her hair, he talks quietly so that no one around them can hear. "What? I can't take my girl on a date?"

It's the first time she's been verbally acknowledged as anything of Jace's but his sister. "You know we can't," she says just as softly, even though it's almost physically painful to deny him.

"Yes, we can. Just not anywhere around here."

Jace doesn't really have a plan when they get on the subway. They ride for a long time, and when he's confident that they're far enough from the all of the familiar haunts, he takes Clary's hand, entwines their fingers, and pulls her to him until she's sitting with her head on his shoulder. Then they ride for a while longer. They get off at a stop Jace doesn't catch the name of, in a part of New York he doesn't frequent. The streets are narrow and lined with narrow shops marked by narrow doors. There aren't many people around, but those who are don't look twice at Jace and Clary as they walk down the street holding hands.

Jace feels the tension drain out of Clary bit-by-bit the longer they walk until finally she's relaxed enough to pull him inside an art supply shop. Instinctively, he scopes the place out as they enter, identifying the 30-something woman behind the front counter as the only other occupant. She smiles at them from beneath her bulky glasses. "Hey there. Anything I can help you find?"

Clary smiles back. "No, we're just browsing. Thanks."

Jace has always seen Clary most clearly when she has sketch book in her hands. Here amongst the shelves of paper, chalk, and pencils, she's brought into even sharper focus, as if she's never been more herself than she is at this moment. Her eyes try to go everywhere at once, not searching for threats but wonders. She lets out a small contented sight before crossing to one of the walls, which is stocked floor to ceiling with paints.

"There's so many," she murmurs in appreciation.

Jace steps behind her and slides his arms around her middle. "I've never seen you paint."

When she answers, he can feel the gentle vibration against his chest even through the layers of clothes between them. "I'm not very good at it."

"I doubt that."

She shrugs. "I'm not as good as my mom, I mean, our mom. And it's easier to draw because there isn't a bunch of supplies to lug around. Just my sketchbook and a pen or pencil." Stretching up onto her toes, she grabs a tube of gold paint from the shelf. "I'd like to paint you, though. Some day."

Jace grins and lowers his mouth to her ear. "And would this be a nude portrait? I've been told I have the perfect jaw for nude portraits."

"Hmm. I'm still trying to figure out how to capture your ego. I'm not sure it'll fit on one canvas."

He chuckles, fingers digging into her sides as he nips punishingly at the skin of her neck. When she wriggles in his arms but doesn't try to escape, Jace pulls her back more firmly against him. The tube of paint clatters to the floor amidst Clary's surprised laughter.

"Clary?"

Jace feels her tense, and he curses under his breath when they turn to find Hayden standing behind them looking amused but uncertain. Reluctantly Jace lets his arms fall away as Clary takes a conscious step forward.

"H-Hayden," she stammers, blushing a rather attractive shade of pink.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in here before." Hayden's eyes dart from Clary's nervous form to Jace, who regards him with thinly veiled annoyance. "And I'm here a lot."

Jace crosses his arms and looks around the nearly-silent shop. "I can see why. It's a very happening place."

Shaking his head, Hayden says, "It's hard to explain to someone who's not into this stuff."

"I think it's great," Clary agrees readily. "But it's the first I've been here."

Hayden reaches into the front pocket of his jeans. "Then it's just my luck. Because I have something for you."

"Careful what you pull out there," Jace mutters under his breath, and Clary's elbow digs into his side. A moment later, Hayden is drawing a thin silver chain from his pocket. Dangling at the bottom is a heavy-looking ring. Jace recognizes it immediately.

"Where'd you get that?" Clary gasps, hand going to her chest, where the Morgenstern ring usually hung from around her neck. Her fingers grasp at thin air.

"At that party the other night. It must have fallen off. I found it in the booth and forgot to give it to you."

Clary looks relieved as she steps forward to accept the ring, and Jace wonders what it means to her. For Jace, it will always represent the lie, everything he thought he knew about himself before that night in Renwick's when he learned that his father is Valentine Morgenstern and Clary his sister. The ring belongs to Jace Wayland, a boy who was sure of himself, if nothing else. Jace Morgenstern doesn't even have that certainty. But he has Clary—which is more than he deserves—and as she drapes the chain around her neck and the ring settles beside her heart, he's glad she has that piece of him. Even though he can't bear to carry it, he couldn't bear for it to disappear entirely, either. Clary, he knows, will keep it safe.

"Thank you," she tells Hayden. "It's sort of a family heirloom."

Hayden looks pleased but shrugs. "Sure thing." His dark eyes linger on the ring as Clary tucks it beneath the neck of her sweat shirt. "Something that valuable shouldn't be let out of your sight."

"What a happy coincidence then," Jace says, regarding Hayden intently, "that we both happened to visit the same shop at the exact same moment on the exact same day. It's as if fate's intervened, or something equally nefarious is afoot."

When Hayden smiles at Jace, it's strained and not at all pleasant. "Or something."

"I'll see you on Tuesday, Hayden, right?" Clary asks while bending down to retrieve the tube of paint she fumbled a moment ago. "I think I heard something about starting ceramics this week."

"Yeah. I wouldn't miss it."

"Great." She smiles. "See you then."

There's no chance in hell Jace is saying anything as remotely cordial as a 'goodbye,' so he remains silent as Clary replaces the paint on the shelf. He has to force himself not to react when Hayden checks out her ass the moment she turns her back. Jace is considering how socially acceptable it would be for a brother to hit a guy for something like that when Clary tugs at the sleeve of his coat. She tips her head towards the front door.

"You ready?"

"Sure. Let's go."

As they leave the narrow shop on the narrow street, Jace glances back to see Hayden watching them through the window.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"I told you this would be a flop."

Clary can hardly hear Isabelle, who is several strides ahead of everyone else, but her annoyance is made quite clear by a vehement snap of her neglected whip. Of course, none of the Mundanes they're walking amongst so much as bat an eye at the sight of a towering Isabelle stalking down the sidewalk, restlessly cracking her whip to and fro. Clary isn't altogether certain they would even feel the blow on the off chance Isabelle accidentally struck one of them. Glamours are an invaluable tool for Shadowhunters, and their effectiveness always impresses Clary, who still isn't accustomed to maneuvering unnoticed and unhindered through the New York masses.

"And it's totally unfair to Clary," Isabelle continues her rant. "Her first hunt, and not a single demon had the courtesy to show up."

Alec's attention has been focused on his phone for the last ten minutes—undoubtedly exchanging texts with Magnus. He continues typing but sighs the way brothers do when their sisters are being unreasonable. "I'm pretty sure that's the reason Dad let her come along in the first place. She's not ready to officially start hunting yet." He looks over at Clary. "No offense."

Clary shrugs. "I was mostly curious about the process." When they set out from the Institute that night, Clary hadn't been expecting much action, not after how silent things have been the last two weeks and the contents of Luke's letter. A trip to Pandemonium was more of a last-ditch effort to relieve boredom than a full-fledged hunt, and Robert had been easily persuaded to let Clary tag along.

"No," Jace says from her other side, "Robert let her come because he's got a soft spot for her. She's charmed him somehow. I haven't quite figured it out yet, but I'm working off the assumption it has something to do with all those freckles."

Clary self-consciously touches a hand to her face. "There's nothing wrong with freckles."

"Exactly."

"You're going to ruin your makeup if you keep doing that," Isabelle says without turning around.

"And who's going to notice?" Jace asks. "The dozens of people who can't see us? We'll be home soon anyway."

"That's not the point. I spent 45 minutes making her look fabulous, and she's going to keep looking fabulous until the night is officially over."

Clary, whose feet are aching in a pair of strappy, four-inch heels, is regretting those 45 minutes more and more as the evening wears on. "I don't think the demons we're hunting care what I look like."

Isabelle slows down so that they catch up to her. "Of course they care. Demons who go to Pandemonium Club aren't there for an easy kill. If that was all they wanted, they'd pluck a homeless person from a park bench. They come to the club because they want to be seduced." When Clary makes a face, she continues. "A human's life force has a lot of energy, which is why demons consume them. It's their raw fuel. All that power can be a real turn on." Isabelle shrugs. "Like a demonic aphrodisiac."

Jace looks mildly impressed. "So you _have_ been reading the dictionary I got you."

"Demons have sex with humans?" Clary can't quite wrap her mind around the idea.

Jace hunches his shoulders against a particularly strong gust of wind. "How do you think Demon Pox got started?"

Alec pockets his phone. "There's no such thing as Demon Pox." To Clary he says, "And you know that warlocks are half human, half demon."

"I guess I never really thought about it too much," Clary admits. She doesn't get to ponder it a moment longer because Isabelle's hand suddenly clamps around her wrist, bringing them both to a halt.

"Ow," Clary mutters.

"Look!" Isabelle hisses, a clear note of excitement ringing in her voice. "Up there."

Clary follows her line of sight to a second floor fire escape of a darkened apartment building across the street. At first, all she can make out are shadows and brick. But then there's something in the darkness, a pair of red shimmering orbs that catch the light of the street lamp. Adrenaline begins to seep into Clary's veins.

She listens vaguely to Alec's firm voice. "We need to be make sure it's—"

The glowing red orbs are suddenly moving, dancing in tandem. They leave the cover of the shadows, revealing themselves to be pupil-less red eyes set in a broad gray face shaped like a cruel mockery of a lion's head. The demon's body only vaguely resembles that of a human's—overly broad shoulders, a muscled torso, clawed hands and feet. Two bat-like wings protrude from the shoulders, and it uses them to launch itself from the fire escape. The demon drops down, circles the street right above their heads, and then swoops into a nearby alleyway with a terrible screech.

Clary looks back to the others to see that they've already drawn their weapons. She quickly draws a dagger from the sheath around her thigh. "Is that…a _gargoyle_?"

Alec seems uncertain. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I don't care what it's called," Jace says, eyes bright with anticipation. "A demon by any other name would die just as swiftly."

"We don't know what it's capable of, so we can't give it an easy target. Let's split it up. Iz and I will take the alley entrance—"

"And I'll take the roof," Jace finishes, already eying the pawn shop and convenient store the alley runs between.

Clary frowns. "What about me?"

"You stay here."

"Why?"

"Alec's right; you're not ready," Jace says.

"But how am I ever going to _get_ready if I don't learn?"

"You learn in the training room."

Clary bristles. "That's not true, and you know it."

"We don't have time for this," Alec cuts in. "Isabelle, go with Jace. Clary will cover the alley with me."

"But-"

"Go, Jace, Or it's going to get away!" And with that, Alec takes off down the sidewalk, easily dodging a small group of teenagers as he goes. Clary begins to follow suit, when Jace steps in front of her.

"Jace..."

"Be careful," he tells her softly, and then he's gone.

She takes off after Alec, seraph blade in hand. He's waiting, back against the storefront as he peers around into the opening of the alley. "It's just sitting in there," he mutters. "Like it's waiting for something."

"_Castiel_." The seraph blade comes to life with a soft hum, and Clary feels the power of it warming her hand, stirring her blood. It's the only weapon that's come to Clary with any amount of ease, and she feels a surge of confidence holding it now.

Alec waits a beat before nockingan arrow. He glances up at something Clary can't see from her spot beside him. "Jace and Isabelle are in place." Clary nods—not that Alec is looking at her—and a moment later watches him step in front of the alley, feet braced and bow drawn taught. He takes aim and lets the arrow fly. There's a brief whistle of air being rapidly displaced before the distinct sound of impact.

Alec swears and presses his back to the building wall beside Clary.

"Did you miss?"

"No." Alec sounds regretful. "The shot ricocheted right off its chest. It was like striking stone."

She decidedly _doesn't_ like the sound of that. "Now what?"

Bow and quiver fall to the ground. Alec pulls a seraph blade from his belt. He calls its name and it glows with life. "We hope that these are more effective."

An angry shriek rings out from the alley, and Clary and Alec share an anxious glance before darting around the corner. They find Jace crouching several feet ahead, his back to them as he faces off against the demon. Standing this close, Clary can tell Alec's assumption was accurate. The demon _does_appear to be made from stone. Everything from its three-inch canines to the wings on its back. And yet it's moving, growling even. A black scorch mark runs the length of one arm. Clary can only assume it's a token of the shining blade in Jace's left hand.

"I'm sure someone's already told you this, but you are terribly unattractive," he says as if striking up a conversation over tea. "And by that I mean you might be the single ugliest thing I've ever seen. And I see Simon quite frequently."

If the demon understands the taunt, it gives no indication of it. Instead, bright red eyes look beyond Jace, the inhuman gaze landing on Clary and Alec. Without a moment of hesitation, the demon propels itself into the air, clear over Jace. Robert's instruction on evasive maneuvers leaps to the forefront of Clary's mind. Her muscles tense in preparation for a forward roll, but she never gets the chance to execute it. There's a lightning-like flash of light as an electrum whip coils around the demon's ankle, jerking it to a halt mid-air. Isabelle is standing on the roof of the convenience store, the other end of her whip clutched in both hands as she struggles to brace herself against the ledge.

While Clary is momentarily paralyzed by the sight of the demon looming above them, Alec doesn't hesitate to jump, seraph blade raised, and strike at the demon's exposed sternum. Dust rains down from the resulting wound. With a thunderous cry, the demon gives a powerful flap of its wings, and Isabelle's strength is no match. As the demon careens upward, Isabelle is jerked from her place on the roof. Although the whip is still secured to the demon's foot, the tension isn't enough to save Isabelle from a nasty impact with the ground. After landing on her feet, she falls immediately to her knees, her whip falling in graceful spirals around her.

Executing a swift backwards loop in the air, the demon lets out another screech. This time Clary forces her body into motion. Pulling out her stele, she draws an accuracy rune on the palm of her right hand. Her skin is still stinging with the rushed Mark when she pulls back her arm and sends the seraph blade hurdling through the air.

At first, it appears her throw wasn't strong enough to reach its target, but the demon continues its descent toward her with a blind fervor and the alley is too narrow for it to dodge sideways. The blade embeds itself foot-deep in the stone-like shoulder. But the demon only falters for as long as it takes to recoil from the assault before doubling its efforts and moving swiftly towards her, jaws gaping open.

She hears Jace shout her name, but she can't take her eyes off of the crackling electricity shinning from inside the demon's mouth. The light grows bigger and brighter behind jagged teeth, and as the demon rears back its head, Clary is keenly aware of the fact that she has nowhere to go. She hurries backward blindly, but the movement only gives her room enough to see Jace driving his seraph blade into the demon's back as it lets out a startling blast of red-tinged light. She's forced to close her eyes against the brightness.

Something solid and heavy slams into Clary, sending her sprawling to the ground. The air is forced from her lungs. She gasps for breath, but the weight on her chest hasn't lifted, and there's an intense, dry heat suffocating the air around her. _If this is death, I thought it would hurt more._

But maybe death isn't a coldness. Maybe life isn't a flame waiting to be snuffed out by a dark hand. Life could be ice, an ever-changing solid, melting, disappearing with the passage of time. Death, an inexhaustible heat that slowly whittles away at life or douses it in an instant, until all that's left is a trickle of water running along the cut of the land—whether it be high or low.

There's no fire when Clary opens her eyes. No light. Just a blue-black sky.

The weight on top of her shifts. With a low noise of discontent, Alec rolls off of her onto his back.

Dazedly, Clary rises to her knees and looks around for any sign of the demon. She finds only the rubble of crushed rock scattered across the dirty alley floor. "What happened?"

Jace appears before her, eyes wide and searching. "Are you hurt?" His grab her shoulders. "The blast…I couldn't stop it."

Clary shakes her head. "No. I'm fine. But Alec…" He's still lying on the ground, running a hand across his face, eyes closed to the world. Clary leans over him as Jace moves to his other side. She touches a hand to his chest. "Alec?

Jace checks over his body for wounds. "He must have been hit in the back."

"What's wrong?" Isabelle is hovering anxiously over them. She's got most of her weight resting on one leg, and there's an _iratze_ slowly fading away on the other.

"Nothing's wrong," Alec mutters, and his hand drops from his face. Deep blue eyes appear from beneath dark lashes. He blinks slowly, as if it's a conscious effort, and then meets Clary's concerned gaze. "Just a headache. I must have hit it during the fall."

Jace immediately sets about drawing an _iratze _below Alec's collar bone. But Alec doesn't look at him; his eyes haven't left Clary. "Are you hurt?" he asks.

"I'm fine. Thanks to you." She shakes her head. "You didn't have to do that."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you could have died."

His eyebrows furrow, and Clary can't help but think there's something he wants to say but doesn't. He sits up, wincing slightly as he does. "I hardly felt a thing. Are you sure it didn't hit you?"

"All I felt was heat. But it didn't burn me."

"You were lucky," Jace says. "Both of you. Lucky that I was here to save the day. Yet again."

"But saved from what?" Alec wonders aloud as they all get to their feet. "I've never heard or read anything about a demon made of stone."

"Well, whatever it was, it's dust now." Isabelle kicks at a stray chunk of stone with toe of her boot.

"I should go to Luke's."

The three of them look back at Clary with matching puzzled expressions.

"You think the stone bat-man belonged to him?" Isabelle sounds doubtful. "I mean, I know Luke isn't exactly known for his fashionable taste in outdoor décor, but…"

Jace crosses his arms. "'Never trust a lawn ornament' is what I always say."

"I don't think Luke had anything to do with it," Clary says. "But we might find something about it in one of his books."

"The Institute has books," Alec points out.

"Yes, but you just said that you've never seen anything about it in the books at the Institute. Luke's collected quite a few rare volumes over the years. He may have something the Institute—"

"You're ringing."

Clary blinks at Jace. "I—what?"

"You're ringing." He points at the pocket of her jacket.

Clary hears it then, the muffled sound of her cell phone going off. It's a familiar heavy metal tune that grows louder as she fishes the phone from her pocket and flips it open. "Hey, Simon. Can I call you back in a couple of minutes? I'm sort of in the middle of something."

Simon's voice is quick and eager on the other end of the line. "Where are you?"

"A couple blocks from the Institute. We ran into a demon, believe it or not."

"So you haven't heard, then?"

Clary sighs. "Heard what?"

"It's all over Facebook, and I didn't believe it at first, but I just saw something about it on the news. And you can't just make something like that up."

"Simon," she prompts impatiently.

His next breath is a low rustling in her ear. "It's Hayden, Clary. He's dead."

"What?"

"Hayden Risser. From school. His dad found his body at their house."

Clary can't speak past the lump forming in her throat. She sees Hayden in her mind as she had seen him just that morning in the little shop. Her hand goes to the ring hanging from her neck, and all she can do is stare—astonished—at Jace, who looks concerned as he steps closer.

She doesn't hear Simon say her name until he's repeated it several times.

"Yes?" she answers hollowly.

"Clary, the thing is…he's been dead for three days."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you to those of you who took the time to review the last chapter. You're fabulous, and I really appreciated it. :)


	6. Part Six

Thanks go to **amaggiepie** and **sunshiiine23** for their beta work on this chapter. I love you ladies.

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART SIX**

Jace doesn't chance Clary not showing up a third night in a row. When they get back to the Institute, he follows her into her room even though Isabelle and Alec are awake just down the hall. But the adrenaline from the fight has seeped from her body along with any will to protest his breach of caution. Neither of them speak as Jace places locking and silencing runes on the door, and Clary changes in her pajamas.

By the time she pulls her hair out from beneath the t-shirt collar, Jace is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands fisted at his sides. He's staring at the floor stone-faced, and Clary knows this is going to be a long night.

"Jace, we shouldn't—"

"I never suspected, not once. I'm a Shadowhunter. I'm trained to detect and hunt demons, and I didn't even recognize one when I shook its hand."

"If anyone should have noticed, it's me," Clary says adamantly. "I'm the one who knew him best. I should have realized it wasn't him."

Jace is silent; he doesn't agree.

"And how could he have been a demon," Clary continues, "when we saw him in the middle of the day?"

"Inside."

"What?"

"We saw him inside the shop. Not out in the sun."

It's Clary's turn to fall silent.

"He was alone with you outside Magnus's. He could have…" Jace shakes his head, jaw clenched. "I've never seen an Eidolon do such a perfect transformation. One's never gotten past our Sight before."

"Maybe it had help. Or maybe it wasn't an Eidolon at all." She closes the distance between them, climbs onto his lap, and kneels so that she's straddling his legs. Jace's hands go to her immediately, touching her face and then gently sliding down the column of her throat. She pulls at his coat zipper. "We'll figure it out tomorrow with Maryse and Robert."

It feels good having him here like this, almost as if they're a normal couple—turning in for the night together, getting ready for bed, talking about their day. No waiting for everyone else to fall asleep before sneaking into a dark room.

"It's true, you know."

Clary continues with her task of pushing the coat off his shoulders and down his arms. "What is?"

"Demons are drawn to humans by raw need. The desire to consume is irresistible."

It takes Clary a moment to recall the conversation from that evening, but when she does, she frowns down at the buttons of his shirt. She undoes them one-by-one with care.

"I think that's why I want you more than what's humanly possible. No one's wanted anything as much as I want you, and I don't think we're supposed to."

His shirt joins his coat, both lying draped over the foot of the bed. "You mean it's not my dazzling you want?" It doesn't come out sounding as teasing as she intended. She looks down at where her hands are resting against his chest to avoid meeting his eyes but doesn't miss the small shake of his head.

"No. That's what I _love_."

There are many things a person could get tired of hearing over and over. Jace saying he loves her isn't one of them. Her fingers fan out farther against the smoothed, lined skin of his chest. She takes a moment to soak in the heat. "Do you know why I want you?"

He shakes his head again.

"Because you're ridiculously hot."

She feels his laugh against her palms. It rides her bones and warms her veins. "Well, I can hardly blame you for that."

"Do you know why I love you?"

His chest rises and falls unevenly. "No."

The list of reasons is a tireless, but she picks the one that feels especially true right then. "Because you make me feel strong. Like I could do anything." Anything but walk away from you. "Most of the time I don't think you're even doing it on purpose. You just do and say things that make me feel good."

His fingers dig into her hips, tugging her closer so that their chests bump together. "You can do anything," he affirms. "And some day you're going to realize you can do better than me."

She shakes her head because the idea is ridiculous. Jace may not be perfect, but he's as close to perfect as she'll ever need. She wishes she could make him see that, especially in moments like this when he lets all pretenses of certainty fall away. But no number of kind words from her will make him realize his self-worth. That sort of acceptance is earned, not bestowed, and she can't fight this battle for him.

But she can reassure him that she'll be here no matter what.

"Do you know what I want to do right now?" she asks, fingers tracing the runes to his shoulders then following the contours of his biceps. Gently, she scrapes her nails down his forearms, watching the trail of goose bumps that appear in their wake. She can feel him his eyes on her as she wraps her hand around his wrists.

"You're asking a lot of questions tonight," he notes, almost sounding dismayed.

She hums. "Well, if you're not interested…"

A moment after she tugs his hands from her hips he's wrapping an arm around her back to keep her still. There's a breath of air against her neck followed by the fleeting touch of his lips. "I'm always interested."

She threads a hand through his hair, directing his mouth to that place on her shoulder he has a habit of biting. "Even if I want to go spar for an hour?" she asks, gasping at the sensation of teeth on skin.

The world tips and Clary ends up beneath Jace on the bed, his hands shackling hers to the mattress. She peers up at his face, only to find it half-hidden by the fringe of his hair and the darkness of the room. "If it's you on your back with me on top of you that you're after, we don't have to go all the way to the training room for that."

He lowers himselfso that their bodies are perfectly aligned, hers bearing the weight of his. He's all firm planes against the softness of her curves, and she belatedly wishes that she had taken her own shirt off as well. She shifts and feels the hardness pressing into her thigh, and there really are too many layers of clothes between them for her liking. Her mind is spinning with the events of the evening, and the last thing she needs is to _think_ about it all a moment longer.

With a bit of wiggling, she gets her hands free. She pushes at him until he rolls sideways off of her, and she's straddling his hip and reaching for the button of his jeans before he gets a chance to protest the change of positions.

She feels the need to clarify when Jace raises an eyebrow at her. "I want to be on top."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The council chamber is one of the many rooms in the Institute that doesn't see much in the way of use. The room, located near the back of the Institute, isn't particularly large, but it's long and narrow with a sleek, wooden table running the length of it. The only other pieces of furniture are the twenty cushioned chairs designed for lengthy tactical meetings, six of which are now occupied. Jace, slumped back in his own seat, listens absently as Alec recounts the weekend's events to Robert and Maryse, who both look unreasonably alert for the early hour. Next to Jace, Isabelle has her face hidden behind a cup of coffee and offers the occasional muttered commentary to Alec's straight forward explanation. Across from them, Clary blinks sleepily at the table and swats at a chunk of hair that's escaped from her hastily done braids.

Despite his foul mood, Jace can't help smiling smugly to himself. She didn't get much sleep last night. Neither of them did.

"...and then it crumbled into rubble. That was when Clary got the call about Hayden," Alec finishes. He's watching Robert expectantly, but it's Maryse who responds.

"You took a Mundane to a Downworlders' party?" She sounds more than a tad scandalized, and her left eyebrow twitches at the question—never a favorable sign.

"That's not the point," Alec says, leaning forward in his chair, and Jace can't blame him for being impatient. They spent the last twenty minutes relaying the weekend's events and _that_is the detail Maryse hones in on. Never mind the murderous statue or the demon they had dinner with. It'll be a small wonder the day she stops viewing them all as anything other than children in need of instruction or chastisement. "The point is that a demon killed a Mundane in order to get close to us."

Maryse shakes her head. "But why? You aren't privy to any of the Clave's private dealings, and you never would have brought him inside the Institute no matter how close you thought you were." The last bit is said rather sternly.

Jace would have rolled his eyes if it weren't for the shining example of Simon's brief stay post-rat. Alec, meanwhile, looks insulted. "Of course not. But what else would a demon be doing hanging out with a bunch of Shadowhunters? It could have something to do with the lack of demon activity."

"The Clave," she responds quickly, "has found no evidence to suggest that anything the flux in activity is anything but the natural fallout from—"

"That's only because they're not looking for any evidence." Everyone's eyes slide to Clary, who's been uncharacteristically quiet to this point. "They aren't looking for _anything_."

The quiet accusation has Maryse straightening in her seat. "There are a number of matters the Clave is facing, many of which are far more pressing than our local demon shortage. They allocate their recourses where and when they can."

It's a knee-jerk reaction for Maryse to defend the Clave; it has been for years—ever since they effectively banished her and Robert to New York for treason. And even though the events surrounding Valentine's return tainted the infallible image the Clave had maintained for so long, her loyalty towards the Nephilim's governing body remains firm, if not a little battered. Jace knows it's something Maryse can't afford to lose.

Clary might be exhausted, but there's no mistaking the familiar, determined glint that enters his sister's eyes in that moment. "Then we'll just have to deal with it ourselves."

Alec readily nods his agreement. "If we wait, the trail will go cold."

"What are you thinking?"

The low rumble of Robert's voice catches Alec off guard, and he takes a moment to collect his thoughts before responding. "We'll need to find whatever it was that impersonated Hayden. It couldn't have been working alone, so we need to question it. Hayden's house would be a good place to start looking for trails to follow. It was staying there for a few days, and it might have left something behind."

Jace can feel Alec's eyes on him, searching for some sign of approval. But Jace doesn't look up from his task of dislodging the dirt beneath his fingers nails with the tip of his stele.

"Maybe not. Hayden,"—there's a hesitation when Clary says his name—"was staying home alone this weekend because his dad was out of town. The demon wouldn't have had to stay there to keep up appearances."

"But it's a place to start," Robert adds.

"Clary…do you think you could get inside Hayden's house?"

Jace's eyes flicker up at Alec's hesitant question, watching carefully for Clary's reaction.

Her lips curve in a small frown. "I…I could maybe come up with a reason to stop by, but I'd like to wait a couple of days before trying."

"Of course. It wouldn't be appropriate," Maryse agrees with a curt nod, and Jace catches a glimpse of the woman who recently lost her own son. But it's only a glimpse, a lapse, and a beat later she's stoically lifting her chin. "If this is going to be handled appropriately, it will require research. Find out what it was that attacked you last night. You'll also need to step up patrols accordingly. You've been getting lazy."

"I can help," Clary offers.

Jace's refusal is burning on the tip of his tongue when Robert nods. "This would be a good opportunity for field experience. You'll patrol with me tonight."

Jace straightens in his seat. "But she—"

"We'll split into two teams," Robert continues, leaving no room for argument. "Isabelle goes with Clary and I. We'll patrol the area where you encountered the demon last night. Alec and Jace, you take the docks, working your way north."

And that's it. Robert pushes back from the table and rises to his feet. Maryse watches him exit the room. Looking a little bewildered, she nonetheless voices her agreement. "Yes, I think that should work well. In the meantime, you can begin your research."

Jace is already on his feet and doesn't spare her or anyone else in the room a second glance as he leaves. Briefly, he considers following Robert and trying to talk some sense into him, but Jace knows it will be a wasted effort. Until he turns 18—the age at which he can potentially claim legal custody of Clary—he has no say in her training or any other risks she's allowed to take part in. It doesn't matter that he's the only family she has; she's a ward of the Clave until Jocelyn regains consciousness, and they can do with her as they please. It doesn't matter that he loves her more than anyone else here—or anywhere—and that it would destroy him if anything were to happen to her.

"Jace!"

He stops, turning to see his _parabatai_ striding purposely down the hall. Reluctantly, Jace waits until Alec stops a couple feet away and waits again as Alec regards him wordlessly for several moments. Blue eyes flicker over his features as carefully as if they're measuring them. It's the sort of intent expression Jace has only ever seen Alec give a convoluted map or a particularly difficult passage of Ancient Greek. He finds it unsettling to be the subject of its scrutiny now.

"Did you start the silent game without telling me?" Jace finally asks. "Because that's cheating, you know, and I demand a restart."

"You're worried about Clary."

Jace opens his mouth to protest because it's a survival instinct to deny Clary publically, to deny anything and everything because he can hardly recognize the line between innocence and debauchery now that he's crossed it so thoroughly.

"I know that you think it's too soon for Clary to be patrolling," Alec says, "and you're probably right."

"Naturally."

"But Dad will keep an eye on her. You know that."

"And letting her run off into the fray without more than a few months training is keeping an eye on her?" Jace argues. "It's reckless. _She_'s reckless. And I'm her brother. I'm supposed to—"

"Protect her," Alec finishes.

Jace shakes his head. "Keep her alive. It's dumb luck she made it through everything with Valentine. And now this."

_It's not fair._

But life never is. Especially not his.

"We'll figure it out." With that, Alec begins stepping away, but Jace stops him with his next words.

"Thank you. For last night."

There's no need for elaboration. Jace sees the understanding pass over his _parabatai's_ face along with a flush of red along his cheeks. But there's something else there, as well, and Jace finds himself looking at him more closely.

"Jace…" Alec meets his eyes. "I would never let anything happen to her."

Jace nods his acceptance as Alec claps him on the shoulder before heading down the hall.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

It's a relief when Clary hears that a public viewing for Hayden will be held at his home. It means she doesn't have to find an excuse to stop by the house on her own. She only has a vague recollection of Hayden's father, and that's from years ago when he would pick up Hayden from the middle school the same time Jocelyn was there to get Clary. She doubts that he would recognize her or let her into the house—no matter how tactful the request.

The local news has been following the story of Hayden's death, and within 48 hours it's announced that he died of heart failure. A healthy 18-year-old athlete dies from _natural_ causes, and no one questions it any longer than it takes to label the whole thing a terrible tragedy. It angers Clary that no one but them will ever know the truth about what happened, and a father will be left to wonder _why_ for the rest of his life.

The viewing is scheduled for Friday, and the preceding days are spent tucked away in the library pouring over book after book on demon identification and shadow world history. They're looking for any accounts bearing similarities to the stone creature they encountered Sunday night. It's a tedious and largely fruitless task that causes Clary to begin loathing the feel of thin pages between her fingertips. She's not very good at this sort of research, she decides, as she's alternatively distracted by Isabelle's sporadic humming and Jace's resounding silence. Alec doesn't join them, and if he were anyone else she would assume he's shirking his duties. But it's Alec, so she's fairly certain that he and Magnus really are making an effort to help sort this thing out.

Clary doesn't think she would have made it through Thursday if Simon hadn't agreed to meet up with her for a short break. She drops by the school during his lunch period, and he utilizes some inherent vampire sneakiness to get off campus. There's a small playground a block down, and they settle cross-legged on the old merry-go-round. As Clary unpacks her sandwich and chips, Simon relays the school's reaction to Hayden's death.

"I'm pretty sure half the student body prefers to think that he was murdered," he says dryly. "And that his jealous ex-girlfriend Shayna orchestrated it all. I guess that means there's a chance you'll be next."

Clary grunts over a bite of turkey and sourdough. "They're not the only ones who think that."

Simon looks surprised. "Really? I never pegged Shayna as the hire-a-demon-to-kill-and-impersonate-her-ex-boyfriend kind of girl. Sure, there's the scary, claw-like manicure, the shoes without shoelaces, and the age-inappropriate _Dora the Explorer_ backpack, but that doesn't really scream homicidal cult worshiper like it used to. Now it just says: _I easily get lost in department stores_."

"Hmm," Clary hums thoughtfully. "Write that one down. Could be your guys' next big single."

"Will do. But can we go back to the part where you might be murdered?" Simon pulls a small flask of blood from his inside his coat. His fingers work the cap with ease, immune to the chilly air. "That sounded like it was getting interesting."

"Maryse doesn't seem to think that a demon would bother getting close to us for the purpose of infiltrating the Clave. We're too insignificant. So whoever it was must have been hanging around for some other reason."

Simon frowns. "Like what?

Clary shrugs a shoulder. "We're not sure." Leaning back against one of the handle bars, she idly twists the Morgenstern ring hanging from her neck. It's a habit that soothes her. "Usually the only thing demons want is to kill us. And to eat people."

"So maybe it's not a demon."

"Maybe not. We're looking for _anything_ at this point." This reminds Clary that soon she'll have to go back to the Institute soon to resume research.

"So they're really letting you go out on patrols now?"

"Who told you that?" she asks, curious because she hadn't mentioned it in any of their phone calls.

Simon pockets his flask. "Alec said something about it yesterday. Just before he and Magnus had a big fight."

Simon has taken to dropping by Magnus's apartment on occasion, and it doesn't surprise Clary that the two of them have struck up a friendly rapport. They have a similar sense of humor and—Clary rarely lets herself linger on this thought—neither of them would age another day in their lives.

"Magnus and Alec were fighting?" It would explain why she saw Alec in the kitchen early this morning. He obviously hadn't slept at his boyfriend's. "What about?"

"I don't know," he says with a shrug. "I'm not as nosey as you. I didn't eavesdrop."

Her crumbled chip bag bounces harmlessly off the side of his face. He raises his eyebrows in offense.

"A special Shadowhunter technique you've learned?"

"Yes." Clary pushes to her feet. "In a few hours time you'll be completely transformed into a Dorito."

"Just when you thought I couldn't get any cheesier."

She stops then, smile slowly fading. She takes in his mused hair, pale skin, dark eyes, the Tim Burton t-shirt beneath the old bomber jacket, and the jeans worn white in several places. They're details that are essentially _Simon_ and yet feel only distantly familiar; like puzzle pieces warped with rain and age so that they don't quite fit together they way they used to—don't form the same picture.

The realization is a sobering one.

"You can't ever change, Simon."

"Well, according to you I'm gonna be a corn chip here pretty soon so—"

"I mean it."

The forcefulness of the words brings him up short. He touches a hand to his temple in a nervous gesture—a remnant of the days when he still wore glasses. "Everybody changes. Maybe not physically," he allows, "but in other ways."

She looks away.

"You've changed."

There's a heaviness in those words, and she's glad she can't see his face and what else might be lingering there. Her eyes linger on the playground. "I bet I can still swing higher than you."

The merry-go-round squeaks and then Simon is walking past her. He looks normal and even smirks as he heads towards the swing set. "I am vampire. See me soar."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The sound of the front door opening pulls Davis from sleep. For a moment he reaches blindly for his glasses on the nightstand, only to remember that there are no glasses, and there is no nightstand. Three nights in this place and he still expects to wake up in his old bedroom—a bedroom he hasn't seen in over a month.

Pushing away the covers, he slumps off the bed and onto his feet. The floor is cold, and he hears his mom's voice in his head. _Go get a pair of socks._ _If you get sick, I'm not letting you stay home from school._ Those are things he never thought he'd miss—his mother's constant nagging or getting up to go school. But Davis would trade anything to go downstairs and find his mom standing in the kitchen or to get on a bus and go to the high school where he's just a no-name freshman. He would trade anything not to be a werewolf.

Voices he wouldn't have heard a month ago are now distinct whispers in his ears.

"Luke's keeping the heat on?"

"I guess. Probably so the books aren't damaged. He has Maia keeping an eye on the place."

Hearing the names of his alpha and the girl who's the closest thing he has to a friend only relieves some of Davis's anxiety as he quietly leaves the room. He makes his way to the stairs, and the voices—one male, one female—continue on conversationally.

"They'll be over here."

"You seem confident that we'll find something."

"Well, we've exhausted the Institute's library, so we better hope we find something."

Davis is careful to avoid the third step from the bottom, which always creaks, and listens for any indication that whoever is inside Luke's store has detected his presence. But there's only the sound of heavy books being shuffled around. The downstairs of Luke's house is dark, but the door to the bookstore is cracked open, sending a shot of pale light across the floor.

Davis steps as close as he dares and peers inside. The room is bathed in a sheen of gray light that's brightest at its source—a glowing orb the size of a fist sitting on one of Luke's tables—and fades to blackness by the time it reaches the shelves of books lining the walls.

He immediately recognizes the girl perched beside the strange light source. The petite profile distinguished by a head-full of thick red curls is impossible to misplace. Clary. The girl whose pictures cover the refrigerator in Luke's kitchen. The one Maia told him is a Shadowhunter. A sort of superhuman who is different from werewolves—or vampires, warlocks, or fey for that matter. Davis knows most of the pack doesn't think very much of Shadowhunters. Something about their demeanor of superiority and fickle nature. But Luke is away in the Shadowhunters' homeland, and Maia is of the mind that not _all_ of them are a complete waste of space. Clary, she told him, wasn't even raised as a Shadowhunter, and she and her mother mean a lot to their pack leader.

Now Davis's eyes fall helplessly to her bare legs which start at the hem of a short dress and dangle a couple inches from the floor. They're smooth, toned, and almost shine in the ghost-like glow of the bizarre object at her side. She leans forward to grasp the buckle of one of her high heels.

It's only then that Davis notices the boy sitting in a chair just beyond her. He's golden haired, and lithely built. The black markings on his skin mark him as another Shadowhunter, and Davis thinks this must be Jace, Clary's brother. He's the one who Maia doesn't like very much. She had only reluctantly admitted that he was one of the best fighters she's ever come across. Dangerous. Arrogant. Reckless. _And too pretty._

"I'm never borrowing Isabelle's shoes again. They kill my feet."

Clary continues struggling with the shoe as Jace flips through the pages of a book he's got open in front of him. Davis would wager that it was a volume from Luke's private collection that he keeps locked up behind the counter. He should announce himself. They probably don't know that Davis has been staying here for the last few weeks—with Luke's permission—and he didn't think it would end well if _they_ were the ones who found _him_, a stranger, in Luke's home.

But this is the first time he's laid eyes on a Shadowhunter. Since being bitten by a rogue Were over a month ago, Davis has been exposed to creatures and curiosities that, for him, had never existed outside of his television. This whole other supernatural world hidden beside, beneath, and between the human one both fascinates and frightens him. He's curious about this Angel race.

There's a barely discernible scrape of the chair legs against the wooden floor as the boy—Jace—stands, abandoning the open book. He steps in front of Clary, takes her ankle in his hands with all the care and delicacy of someone cradling a wounded bird. His fingers are nimble on the dainty buckle of the high heel, and he unclasps it patiently. Once that shoe is free, he places it carefully on the table beside them and moves on to the next. He removes this one just as diligently and sets it beside its match.

This time Jace doesn't relinquish her foot. Instead he holds it to his chest, pressing a thumb into her arch, massaging the first the sole, then the heel, ankle, calf.

Clary lets out a pleased noise, sways forward, and then rocks back until she's lying on the table. Her chest heaves a sigh.

Davis watches Jace watch her and doesn't miss the subtle change that overcomes the Shadowhunter at having Clary in this vulnerable position. Davis thinks maybe it's the warrior in Jace subconsciously responding to the display of defenselessness—maybe fighting and survival is so ingrained in Shadowhunters that they can't escape it even in moments like this—but then there's nothing unintentional about the way Jace lowers her leg back beside the other and steps between them.

"Comfortable yet?" he asks, and what should have been an innocent questions thrums like a warning in the silence of the room.

But this girl doesn't seem to notice. "Much better," she responds almost drowsily, eyes closed to the world.

His hidden spot behind the door affords Davis a clear view of their illuminated profiles—Clary stretched out like a cat on the table and Jace looming over her, fingers moving in slow, methodical circles along her parted legs. His hands linger on her knees for a moment, pause, and then slide up her thighs. They don't stop their ascent, but dip beneath the hem of her jostled dress as if it's not even there.

Davis blinks, looks down at his bare feet, blinks again, knowing for certain that he saw that wrong, and, well, they _are _a good ten meters away and there are shadows, so maybe…

He returns his gaze to the oblivious pair, but nothing has changed. Jace's hands are still hidden by embroidered cotton. There's just enough light for Davis to make out Clary's eyes as they appear from beneath her lowered lashes. She stares at Jace, and he stares unflinchingly back with his hands on her hips beneath her dress. "We're supposed to be researching."

Davis realizes he's holding his breath and his knees are bent, his body poised to act. Mind racing, the only coherent thought he recognizes is the realization that this guy is about to do something _terrible_ to his sister.

Davis nervously licks his lips. He's heard stories about Jace, about what kind of fighter—about how _good _of a fighter he is. Would Jace retaliate if Davis stops him? Would Davis be able to take him one-on-one? Would Clary be able to help?

Jace's voice snaps Davis back to attention. "And what about these?" His hands are moving beneath Clary's skirt. "They're uncomfortable, too, aren't they?"

There's a quiver in her voice as she says _yes_, and that should be all the incentive Davis needs to spring forward and act, but _something_ holds him back, keeps his feet this side of the light shining on the floor. And it's not intuition or anything inside of him at all. It's something about them. There's something about the way Jace pulls the scrap of blue lace down her legs and the way Clary strokes the back of his jean-clad calf with pointed toes.

"The dress," Clary murmurs. "It's scratchy."

So Jace gathers the bottom of it in his hands as Clary lifts her hips, and he guides the thin, clingy material up to her waist.

Davis knows he should look away, that this is all _wrong_, _wrong_, _wrong_, but he can't take his eyes off the silhouette of her smooth thigh and curved ass as its revealed inch by inch. He's never seen a girl this way before and a part of him wants to know...

Jace helps Clary into a sitting position on the edge of the table and finishes pulling the dress off over her head. His fingers skim the edge of her lace-trimmed bra with dissatisfaction. "You know how I feel about these."

Davis sees Clary smile for the first time. It's small and personal—only meant for her brother. "And you know how I feel about these." She curls her fingers into his shirt and begins pulling it upward, forcing his arms above his head. But she can't reach past his elbows and Jace has to finish the job for her.

Black marks like tattoos are scrawled across Jace's chest, arms and back. Some are dark enough to swallow the light from the glowing orb, while others are faded as if someone has attempted to wash them away. They aren't really tattoos, Davis knows. They're the Marks that give Shadowhunters their power. Maia called them _runes_. She said they fade away once a Shadowhunter has used all of their power and leave behind the faint white scars that Davis sees spiraling across both Jace and Clary's skin.

When Jace reaches for the clasp of Clary's bra, she pushes his hands away. "You don't like it? I picked it out for you. It matches the underwear." She sounds amused. Davis can hardly breathe.

Jace leans forward as if he's going to kiss her, but he stops just shy of her lips. "I didn't notice."

Jace's hands make another move toward her back, but she brushes them aside. "Nuh-uh. I like it."

Jace groans, but Clary isn't swayed. Her fingers hook into the front belt loops of jeans and pull him forward so that he returns to his spot between her now bare thighs. As she works the button and zipper, Jace sweeps back her mane of red hair and presses slow kisses to her neck. Clary frees his erection, takes it in her hand.

Davis's eyes drop to the floor. He tries to think back to every conversation he had with Maia discussing Luke's family, thinkingmaybe he'd misunderstood. Maybe they aren't related, and there's a reasonable explanation for them to be doing…this. But the harder he tries to recall some bit of rationality, the more quickly 'Jace' and 'Clary' are chased by 'brother' and 'sister' around and around his head.

A low moan pulls him back to the couple in the bookstore. Clary's arms are wrapped around Jace's neck, her legs around his hips, Jace buried in between. He rocks slowly against her as they trade brief kisses, lips barely grazing. Clary sighs, her hands falling to his shoulder blades, where she traces the runes without needing to open her eyes.

Jace's mouth becomes more fervent against hers. He moves his hips quicker, then slower, constantly changing tempo. Clary struggles to meet the irregular thrusts.

"Jace," she moans in frustration, and her hands drop to his hips as if to guide him into a steadier rhythm.

But he continues his pace relentlessly. "I want it off," he mutters.

Clary sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes squeezed shut as she grinds herself gracelessly against him. Davis knows that it's friction she's looking for, and he feels his own blood begin to race at the thought.

Dissatisfied, Clary groans, and Jace stops moving all together. He lowers his mouth to Clary's ear and whispers words Davis can _just _make out. "Take it off, and I'll fuck you the way you want."

Her body quakes with a shiver that shakes loose all pretenses of resistance. Her hands fly to the clasp of the bra, and she doesn't even have it off her arms before Jace is laying her back on the table. His hands hitch her legs higher on his waist as he pulls out and then slams back into her.

Clary lets out a startled cry.

Just thrusts into her again and elicits the same response. "That's right, baby," he breathes. "There's no one to hear you tonight."

"God, Jace. Oh, God. God. Jace, yes. Yes."

He's steadily pounding into her now, and Davis watches Clary's body writhe and buck under the assault. He follows the dark pink of her erect nipples as they heave up and down with each frenzied thrust of Jace's hips. Clary's nails scrape blindly across the table in search of purchase until her fingers catch the edge of the table above her head.

"Jace! God, Jace…" She's practically humming, head thrown back, face flushed, and knuckles turning white. She's beautiful in an almost frightening way. There's a tightening in Davis's pants.

"Fuck, Clary," Jace pants, "I can feel you coming."

Her eyes are open now—fastened on her brother—as her body tenses and her legs clamp tightly around him. Her lips part but don't let out a sound.

Jace's pace turns sporadic and rushed as he pushes into her several more times before jerking to stop with a final thrust between her thighs. He lets out a guttural groan and slumps forward onto her body as if incapable of bearing his own weight.

Their deep breaths mingle loudly together in the sudden silence of the store. Clary's legs drop feebly from their place around Jace's hips, and he leans forward until his elbows rest on either side of her head, their bodies still joined together.

"You feel so good." Jace's lips skate over her chin. "You have no idea."

Trembling hands cup the back of his neck, as Clary guides his mouth to hers. She kisses him deeply, and it's long and soft. When she pulls away, gasping for breath, Jace's face drops to her chest. He closes his eyes.

In the hallway, Davis backs away from the door. When he can no longer make out the two intertwined figures in the next room, he turns and silently ascends the stairs.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Yeah, this is a bit of a transition chapter (I'm not a fan of that term, but I guess it applies here). It's long, though, which counts for something, right? If anyone is interested, I added a link to my profile where you can see the chapter art for this story. Whenever I update, I post a link on my tumblr along with a graphic. And sometimes I make a graphic for a teaser.

When I started this story, I didn't expect to have a lot readers because of the content (the "incest"), so I was prepared for a minimal amount of feedback. But when I look at my story stats now, apparently there are lots and lots of people reading each chapter of the story. It's great to have a large audience, but it's also disappointing that comparatively so few people are leaving feedback. I know it's not just a TMI fandom quirk, because I see a few stories that _do_ get a large reader response. If no one were reading my story, I wouldn't be worrying about this, but people are reading it, so I'm sort of left scratching me head. (If you don't want to leave feedback in the form of a review, you can always PM me a comment instead.) Reviewing/PMing is a great way to encourage fandom participation in fanfiction. I know several good writers who read TMI but don't write fic because there doesn't seem to be much demand for it (because of the small number of active readers). I think that's really unfortunate because I would love to be reading some quality TMI fic.

That being said, I hope that the people who do review know how much I appreciate them taking the time to do so. I'm going to try to come up with a way to show my gratitude, so stay tuned. ;)


	7. Part Seven

Thanks go to **amaggiepie** and **sunshiiine23** for their beta work on this chapter. I love you ladies.

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART SEVEN**

Clary leaves Hayden's viewing feeling hollow. The ground seems unsteady beneath her feet, and she stares down at them to make sure that they're actually carrying her forward. Her mind is still back at the house that was packed wall-to-wall with bodies, hushed voices, and everything people weren't saying. She doesn't notice Alec walking beside her until he says her name.

"I didn't find much," she admits. "The sensor didn't pick up any demonic readings, not even in the bedroom." Clary still feels awful that she lied to Hayden's father about needing to go up there to get some art supplies she had let Hayden borrow. The _look_ on his face when he nodded slowly and muttered '_second door on the right_…'

"It was a long shot anyway." Alec shakes his head. "The demon probably hasn't been there in over a week. But you said you didn't find _much_, so there's something?"

Clary sighs and reluctantly fishes out from her pocket the only thing of note she found in Hayden's room. Alec takes it from her carefully as if to make sure he doesn't accidentally touch her. He inspects her find as they wait at a busy intersection. It's easier for Clary to watch the cars slowly rolling by than it is to look at him.

Beside her, Alec starts in surprise. "This is…"

"A lock of my hair."

Of course, neither of them knows exactly what it means, but it's no stretch of the imagination to consider it ominous. It certainly isn't comforting.

"What about you? Anything outside?"

Alec hands her back the lock of hair, looking a little unnerved. His hands retreat to his pockets. "Nothing."

"You didn't have to wait for me," Clary says as they cross the street. It had taken half-an-hour of loitering amongst the guests for her to find the courage to ask Hayden's dad to go upstairs. And when she came back down, she was accosted by some old schoolmates, who asked how her mom was doing and what she had been up to. Alec must have waited for close to an hour outside.

He shrugs and quickly averts his eyes. "You might have found something we needed to follow up on right away."

Clary regards him doubtfully. "Jace asked you to watch me, didn't he?"

His gaze snaps back to her, and he looks oddly relieved. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, he did."

Clary shakes her head. She told Jace that morning that she didn't want him to accompany her to the viewing. She knew he would be a distraction, and it would have felt wrong to bring him along when he hadn't even _liked _Hayden (the fact that they had never _actually_ met didn't seem to matter). Of course, that didn't go over well with Jace, who thought it was too dangerous for her to return to the scene of the crime alone. But Clary insisted that it was also a personal visit, one she wanted to make alone. In the end, Jace left the room in a passive-aggressive huff, and Alec volunteered to come along and take a look around the outside of the house, which Clary wouldn't have been able to do inconspicuously.

Clary hadn't expected him to stick around after he was done.

"He's just worried," Alec said. "Obviously someone's taken an interest in you. And from what we have to go off of, that demon could be anybody."

Clary considers the lock of hair in her pocket and supposes that she can't say anything against his concern. Still, Jace knows she can take care of herself in broad daylight.

"Are you hungry?"

"Hm?"

Alec gestures down a side street where Taki's dilapidated storefront is prominent in between two classier, Mundane buildings. "You wanna grab something to eat?"

Clary readily takes advantage of the chance to put off going back to the Institute with their meager—and somewhat unsettling—findings, and soon she and Alec are tucked away in a booth in the back of the Downworlder restaurant. They're seated close to the kitchen, so every time the door swings open, the sounds of pots, pans, and fryers pour out along with clipped words in a foreign language.

The noise is a nice distraction from the awkward silence that settles over Clary and Alec as they wait for a server to take their order. Clary can count on one hand the number of times she's ever been alone with Alec for more than five minutes. They get along fine, but she's not Magnus and she's not Jace, so she doesn't always register on Alec's radar. She's a little surprised that he asked her to lunch in the first place. From the intense way he's staring at the tabletop, she assumes there's something important he wants to say to her, which is even more surprising.

The last (and first) personal conversation they had together ended with her being shoved into a wall and him threatening to kill her. They were beyond that mistrust now, but Clary still felt wary about how solemn he looked sitting across from her.

A waitress appeared to jot down what they wanted—Alec only ordered a water—and as soon as she was gone again, his attention shifted to Clary. "Magnus asked me to move in with him."

She blinked. "That's…did you say 'yes'?"

"No," he admits, as if it's painful.

"Oh." Clary can't help sounding surprised. "Too soon?"

"Maybe," he mutters and looks away again. He gives a self-conscious tug at the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt. "But it's also…I think I might have feelings for someone else."

Clary's mind skips back to the conversation she had with Simon a couple of days —he mentioned overhearing an argument between the warlock and Shadowhunter. She anxiously wonders if it was about Jace. Maybe Alec isn't over his feelings for him after all, and it's just taken him this long to realize it. She's about to ask Alec who he means, but he's speaking again before she gets the chance to open her mouth.

"Why did you break up with Simon?" he asks bluntly. "Was it because he's a vampire?"

She shakes her head and leans back in the booth, forcing herself to relax. "I didn't break up with Simon. He broke up with me."

Alec looks surprised. "I just thought—"

"I think becoming a vampire was part of it. And I think…he realized I didn't love him the way he wanted me to."

Alec frowns. "How do you tell the difference? How do you know when it's the right way?"

"It's just a feeling." She shrugs even though her shoulders are heavy with the words. "Like you could give more of yourself to that person than you could give to anyone else."

She feels the blueness of his eyes then. It's a deep, saturated color that can't hide behind the dark fringe of his hair. _I want to paint his eyes_, she thinks. She'd like to capture the way they're watching her now in the stark light of the restaurant.

"And you've never felt that way?" he asks.

"No," she lies.

A moment later the food arrives, and Alec drinks his water and looks pensive while Clary eats her fish and chips. He doesn't say anything else on the subject, and she doesn't pry. The silence prompts Clary to finish her meal quickly, and Alec drops some money on the table without giving her a chance to protest. She supposes the Clave is paying either way, and decides not to worry about it as they head toward the door.

They haven't taken two steps outside when a familiar voice calls out their names. Maia is heading toward them from across the street, hands jammed into the pockets of a puffy, down jacket and face partially concealed by the fur-lined hood.

"Hey," she says, nodding at Alec, who returns the greeting.

Clary waves. "Hey, we just finished eating, and we were about to head back to the—"

"I wanted to talk to you, actually," Maia interrupts and then glances apologetically at Alec. "In private."

"Um, sure." Clary's doesn't know what Maia would want to talk about alone, but it probably has something to do with Luke or the pack if she doesn't want Alec sticking around. Not all lines between Shadowhunters and Downworlders have been erased by the new Council in Idris.

Alec's hand brushes Clary's arm and he lets her know he's heading back to the Institute (and not Magnus's) before taking his leave. Once they're alone Clary quickly notices that Maia isn't giving her customary smile. In fact there's something distinctly defensive about the way she's standing with her arms crossed and feet planted firmly apart.

"Is something wrong?" Clary asks tentatively.

"You've got time to go for a walk?"

"Yeah. I guess so…"

Maia turns and begins walking away, leaving Clary to hurry after her.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The door to the training room flies open, and Jace instinctively takes a defensive position before realizing that it's Clary who's hurrying towards him. She nearly trips over the edge of a mat before falling into his arms, hands clutching the back of his shirt as she buries her face in his chest. Muffled sniffles are her only greeting.

Jace's arms tighten around her. "What's wrong?"

He knows she's just gotten back from Hayden's showing, and he has to remind himself that death is different for Clary than it is for him or any other Shadowhunter. She hasn't grown up with the likelihood of dying young. And while Jace isn't immune to the pain of loss—he still feels Max's absence like a long shadow at midday—it doesn't unravel him, doesn't force him to feel his mortality anymore keenly than he already does. Clary still keeps her mortality locked away somewhere she doesn't have to see it.

"Do you want to talk about Hayden—"

She shakes her head, pulling back far enough so that he can see the wet tracks on her cheeks. "It's not that. It's…" The words die on her trembling lips. Her eyes, which seem greener beneath her the sheen of gathering tears, search his pleadingly. It's a look he's seen before, one that means she wants him to take the hurt away.

"Clary," he says calmly and takes her upturned face between the palms of his hands, "tell me what's wrong. What happened?"

Clary sucks in an unsteady breath, but meets his steady gaze. "Maia." Damps lashes blink, releasing a fresh trail of tears. "She knows."

"Knows what?"

"Knows about us."

Jace's next breath catches in her throat. "What do you mean? How…"

"The other night at Luke's. Someone was there. A member of the pack. He _saw _us."

It's as if everything falls away but the texture of Clary's hair between his fingers. He can't feel the ground beneath his feet and can't see anything beyond the rapid movement of Clary's lips—swollen from being bitten.

"Right now they're the only ones who know, and Maia said she isn't going to tell Luke or anybody because it isn't her business but that she could never lie to Luke if he asked her straight out. She told the boy not to say anything to anyone, and she doesn't think he will, but they _know_, Jace. And, Maia, she—" Clary stops abruptly as if her throat has closed up.

Jace draws his fingers up and down her neck. It's several moments before she's able to continue.

"The way she looked at me…like I wasn't the same person as before. Like I'd done something terrible. And I know it's terrible and that there's a reason we have to hide, but she didn't even ask why. She didn't even _want_ to understand."

"Hey." Jace's hands drop to her shoulders, and he shakes her gently until she's looking him in the eyes. "You don't need to explain us to anyone else, alright? We understand and that's all that matters."

"But if people start figuring it out, then it _is_ going to matter," she protests. "They won't let us be together."

"They won't figure it out." He says it with so much assurance that there's no room for disagreement. "We'll be more careful. And if Maia says she won't tell anyone else, then nothing's changed." Clary nods reluctantly but seems just as anxious as when she'd rushed in to the room. He drops a kiss on her forehead in hopes of distracting her. "How did it go at Hayden's? Alec said you found something in his room."

The tension leaves her body all at once and she sags against him with a sigh. "A lock of my hair."

Jace frowns, not liking the implication. "Hair can be used for a lot of things," he says more to himself. "We might have Magnus take a look at it. If it was used in some sort of spell, he should be able to tell us."

"I guess we should go talk to him now," she mumbles into his chest. "But I need to change first,"—she pulls away, nose wrinkled—"and you need a shower."

Jace laughs, but it feels hollow in his chest. He releases Clary with a final squeeze. "I guess I do. You get Isabelle and let Maryse know where we're going. I'll meet you downstairs."

"What about Alec?"

"He headed over there as soon as he got back from Hayden's."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Clary trades in her black slacks and gray blouse for the most colorful thing in her closet: a violet tunic sweater that she pairs with bright blue leggings. She doesn't feel any more cheerful when she looks in the mirror, but she thinks she might _look_ it. So she pulls on her boots, grabs her coat, and hunts down Isabelle and Maryse, who are cooking in the kitchen. Or Maryse is cooking, and Isabelle is watching from a safe distance away.

Clary tells them about what they found at Hayden's house, and Maryse agrees that it would be good to have Magnus inspect it. Isabelle, eager for any opportunity to go out and _do things_, quickly discards her apron and asks her mother for a rain check on the lasagna lesson. Maryse just as eagerly grants it.

Five minutes later, Clary, Isabelle and Jace are leaving the Institute.

"You know, maybe the demon or whatever it was didn't use the lock of hair," Isabelle says thoughtfully. "Maybe it belonged to the real Hayden."

"Why would he have a lock of my hair?" Clary asks, glad for the distraction from own thoughts, which can't seem to stray far from her unpleasant encounter with Maia.

"Because he was hopelessly obsessed with you and would hold it every night before going to bed, telling it all of the things he secretly wanted to tell you. How he cared about you, how he thought about you all the time, how he wanted to get into your pants, etcetera." Isabelle shrugs. "It's pretty romantic, actually."

Clary shakes her head at the fantasy. "Actually, it really isn't. It's creepy. I think I'd rather it be used in some demonic rite."

"It's not _that_ creepy," Isabelle scoffs and flips her long whip of a ponytail behind her shoulder. "I dated a ghost once, and the only way we could touch was if I was holding a relic from his past. So I had to carry around this little brass spittoon wherever I went so that we could be together."

"A love story for the ages," Jace muses. "The Ghost, The Shadowhunter, and The Magical Spittoon. It could double as a dramatic commentary on the fatal effects of tobacco usage."

It doesn't take them long to reach the district of old industrial buildings where Magnus lives. They pass through the same scraggly little park Clary crossed the very first night she met the warlock. She feels the same hesitance now that she felt then and wonders at how little has changed. And how _everything_ has changed.

"You doing okay?"

Simon's unexpected appearance at her elbow causes her to jump. "Geeze!"

"Sorry," Simon says without sounding too sincere. "Effective skulking was sort of included in the vampire prize pack. Although it's not usually so successful in the middle of the day."

"I'm just distracted." Clary shakes her head and links her arm through his as they walk. "What are you doing here?"

"Isabelle texted me. She said you were heading over here for a pointless meeting. Sounded like fun."

Clary glances at Jace and Isabelle, who are several paces ahead of them. Neither have turned around or acknowledged Simon's arrival.

Simon, following her train of thought, lowers his voice and says, "I think she's doing that whole "hot and cold" thing girls do."

"Is that a good thing?" Clary asks, amused.

"As long as the hot part doesn't involve her flaying me alive with her whip, I think I can handle it."

Clary has her doubts but doesn't voice them as they've reached the short flight of stairs outside of the renovated warehouse. Just as Isabelle goes to open the door, it swings open from the inside, admitting a willowy, dark-haired woman whose gray eyes alight on the small group in surprise. "Oh, hello. Excuse me."

Clary makes room to let her pass on the steps but follows her progress with her eyes. There's something uncannily familiar about the woman, and Clary would swear they've met before except she can't think of where or when. She watches her walk away until Simon tugs her inside.

The sense of déjà vu lingers as they climb the wobbly staircase to Magnus's apartment. Jace throws open the door without knocking, and Clary, Simon, and Isabelle follow him inside to the sparsely furnished living room. It's empty save for Magnus, Alec and the coffee table between them. They're standing, facing each other with their arms crossed in matching defensive postures. Magnus's cat eyes flicker briefly to the new arrivals. "Go away. We're closed."

As there's nowhere to sit, Jace leans against one of the whitewashed walls. "We come bearing gifts."

Magnus is still watching Alec, who is even paler than usual and staring nervously at Jace. Clary bites the inside of her lip and tries not to overanalyze the look.

"Bran muffins?" Magnus drawls.

"Better." Jace's golden eyes flicker like dancing flames. "The hair of a virgin."

Isabelle makes an indelicate sound that began with a snort and ended with a _yeah right_. Magnus sighs and finally turns from his boyfriend. "I could get thousands just like it at the Jonas Brothers concert this weekend."

"Yeah, but then you would have to actually _go_ to a Jonas Brothers concert," Simon says.

"True." Magnus shrugs. "But that Joe is a cutie. If they would just give me five minutes alone with his eyebrows and some hot wax…"

Clary steps forward with the lock of hair and hands it to Magnus. "We were hoping you could tell us if it was used for some sort of spell. Or that you could find traces of whoever took it."

"You found this at the house?" Magnus asks and runs his neatly manicured fingers along the familiar red strands.

"Whoever was impersonating Hayden left it behind."

"That was awfully sloppy of them."

"And lucky for us," Jace adds.

"We'll see." Magnus closes his hand in a fist. "Now, everyone be quiet and, Isabelle, stop breathing through your mouth."

Clary steps back as small blue sparks of light begin to snake in and out between Magnus's fingers. There's a tangible hum of magic in the air that raises the hair on her arms. Several tense seconds crawl by, and no one moves until

"Locating spell."

"That's it?" Clary asks, not hiding her disappointment. She's not sure what she hoped for, just something that would be more telling.

Magnus hands her back the lock of hair. "I'm sorry it wasn't used for something more exciting, like a curse meant to leave you diseased and barren for the rest of your life."

"It's more than we knew," Alec offers and clears his throat. It seems he's recovered from his earlier apprehension of their arrival. "The demon wasn't working alone. He would have needed a warlock to do something like that."

"If it even was a demon." Simon says. He raises a hand. "Can I get a chair? All this standing around makes me anxious, and I just ate."

Jace smirks. "Squirrel?"

"Liger, actually." A blue arm chair appears with a snap of Magnus's fingers, and Simon falls into it. He looks thoughtfully at Jace. "You know, I think it might have been a distant cousin of yours. As I was drinking its blood, it made a sarcastic comment about my sexuality and then barrel rolled away with the intention of buying yet another leather jacket. That and you're both so magically blonde."

More seats materialize around the room. Jace shrugs as he takes the one closest to Simon. "Sorry, but I'm afraid perfection doesn't fit in a bottle. I can hardly contain it all myself. You'll have to settle with your current shade of…" He gestures to Simon's hair. "What would you call that? Tree bark brown?"

"Spiced chocolate."

"Don't be ridiculous," Magnus interrupts. "It's clearly a dark chestnut. And if we could get back to business, you should all be happy to know that I've been able to determine one thing our mysterious shape shifter _wasn't_."

"What?" Clary asks while settling onto a large, velvet cushion by the coffee table.

Magnus's answering smile is curled with a kept secret. "Nothing you were considering in the first place."

Isabelle rolls her eyes. "That's not exactly helpful."

"It's _very_ helpful," Magnus disagrees. "It's better that whatever you're looking for turns out to be something you've taken into account and not a nasty surprise you aren't prepared for."

It's a good point. But the lack of breakthroughs has eaten away at Clary's resolve to be patient. They're not any closer to finding out who killed Hayden or why someone wanted to get close to the New York Shadowhunters. And there's still a conspicuous silence hanging about the city, that's stopped feeling like a reprieve and started feeling more like the calm before a storm. Magnus is right. They can't afford to be caught unawares.

"I think I should go on patrol alone tonight."

Five sets of eyes swivel in Clary's direction. Jace's are the most penetrating. "And why would you think that?"

"Because whoever was pretending to be Hayden was trying to get close to me. Maybe they thought I was a weak link, or maybe they wanted something from me specifically. Either way, they stopped before they got what they came for. If I make myself vulnerable, they might take advantage of the opportunity."

"And then you'll be dead, and that will just solve everything," Jace says petulantly.

"They didn't try to kill me last time."

"That's right. They killed your friend instead. I'm sure their intentions are completely pleasant. They'll hunt you down in a dark alley and then invite you to tea."

Clary's hands clench, her nails digging into the fabric of the cushion. This already feels like an old argument. "This is what I've been training for, Jace. I can handle it."

Jace crosses his arms over his chest. "No you can't. Not alone. Not yet."

"Then when?"

"In six months? Maybe a year?" He shrugs. "Maybe longer. Whenever you're ready. You're not ready now."

"A _year_?" Clary gapes at him.

"We've _all_ trained for years. Except for you. You're on the fast track, and I'll be damned if it ends with you in an early grave."

"But this might be our only chance," she argues. "That thing is going to come back for us sooner or later, and right now we're just sitting around waiting to see who it's going to turn up as next. We're not getting any closer to figuring this out. We need to take some risks."

"I agree with Clary," Isabelle says. "Sure she's not done with her training, but none of us really are. And she could use some more field experience. We've all had to learn on the job before."

"Thank you, Isabe—"

"This isn't learning on the job." Jace shoots to his feet and stalks the length of the sofa. "This is using her as bait for some _thing_ that's using dark magic and that we don't know the first thing about. If it gets her on her own and decides to kill her, she's done for. That's not field experience. That's suicide."

"I agree with Jace," Alec adds hesitantly.

"Of course you do," Clary snaps.

Alec's eyebrows shoot up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means,"—she twists around to face him—"you always agree with Jace, and we both know why."

"I don't—"

"You're only agreeing with him because you're in love with him."

"Clary." Jace's voice is low with warning.

Alec's face flushes with color. "I am _not_ in love with Jace."

"Oh, really? Because I've been wondering about that myself lately." Magnus is perched on a stool across the room, his long body reclined against the wall. His relaxed posture belies the sharpness of his tone. "You've been acting strange. Distant. Unresponsive. Like you're thinking about something—someone—else."

Just as quickly as the red colored his cheeks it now drains away, leaving Alec pale and wide-eyed. "That's…"—he shakes his head—"you're wrong."

"You told me today that you have feelings for him." Clary feels dizzy with the realization that she was right. Alec, who's already in a relationship, loves Jace, and she doesn't even have a right to be defensive.

"I never said that!" Alec's gaze darts to Jace, who looks a little abashed.

Magnus sighs. "Alexander…"

"No." Alec keeps shaking his head. "No. That's not it."

Even though her eyes are dry, Clary feels like she might cry. "You told me that you have feelings for—"

"I'm not in love with Jace!" Alec shouts. "I'm in love with you!"

There's a heavy silence in which Clary can't look away from his fixed, blue gaze. He doesn't look away either. She can tell that he wants to take it back, that he's running over the words in his head to be certain they actually escaped. Clary thinks about them too, tries to understand what they mean.

_I'm in love with you._

Distantly, she hears Magnus shift in his seat. "This isn't a time for—"

"I mean it," Alec cuts him off with a voice so apologetic there isn't room for doubt. "I have feelings for her. I didn't mean to, and I can't explain how I…"

"But she's a girl." Isabelle is on the edge of her chair, blinking wide, dark eyes at her brother.

"I know," he says, sounding resentful. "It's not exactly something I got a say in. It's just a feeling inside of me. It's the same way I felt about…" Alec trails off, looking at Magnus imploringly. "I'm sorry. I don't know how it happened, but I can't keep pretending it's not there anymore."

Magnus is leaning forward, his mouth parted, his hands clutching at either side of the stool beneath him. He's listening for a punch line that he knows isn't going to come, but he waits for it anyway. His eyes run over Alec, and Clary knows that he's reading him the same way that she reads Jace. Whatever he sees there unnerves him because he suddenly looks away and sinks back against the wall, shaking his head. "This is absurd," he murmurs in disbelief.

Isabelle nods vigorously. "It's like he's possessed."

Alec's body is taught with anxiety. "Isabelle, I just _told_ you—"

Magnus tips his head in her direction. "What did you just say?" he asks quietly.

"I said it like he's possessed. Alec doesn't love Clary. He loves you. We all know it."

As quickly as if it were altered by a snap of his finger, the bewilderment vanishes from Magnus's face. It's replaced by a mask of calm sharp with intent. But it's a barely maintained façade, one that has cracks around his eyes. "How long?" he asks Alec. "How long have you felt this way?"

Alec sags against the arm of the sofa. "About a week. That's how long I've known for certain. I never really considered it before then." He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. "I'm sorry. I—"

Magnus stands and quickly turns to the window so that all they are left with is his illuminated profile.

"This is a dream. I'm dreaming and I'm going to wake up surrounded by my Last Airbender sheets and my M*A*S*H posters."

Simon's words drift over Clary as she continues to watch Alec, who hasn't looked at her since he began his explanation. She feels light and heavy all at once, like a tethered kite caught in a weak wind. She can't bring herself to believe that Alec's in love with her, and yet she believes _him_.

"Did you ever find out what that stone demon was?" Magnus asks. "The one that attacked you on Sunday?"

"No," Isabelle answers with a frown. "Why?"

"You said it hit Alec," Magnus continues, "with a bright light. But that he wasn't hurt."

"He fell on Clary. That was it. And Jace dusted the baddie."

"It didn't disappear like other demons?"

"No," Jace answers before Isabelle can. It's the first time he's spoken since Alec made his unexpected declaration. His expression is indecipherable even to Clary. "It crumbled into dust."

Magnus finally turns back to the room and his curious spectators. "Alec, what was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes?"

"I don't know," Alec sighs, looking frustrated with the left turn the conversation has taken. "Clary, I guess. Listen, can we talk alone? I want to…"

Magnus's face darkens. He walks from the window and reclaims his seat. A snap of his fingers later and a large, leather-bound book appears in his hand. He begins thumbing through the thin pages.

Clary finally finds her voice. "What is it?"

"If I were someone who put much stock in material possessions, I would bet everything I own that Alec has been possessed."

"Possessed?" Alec asks doubtfully.

"Yes," Magnus answers without looking up from the book. "By a love daemon."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Just when you were starting to get comfortable! lol.

To the people who reviewed last chapter: the link that I promised you is posted in my profile (I just added it, so it might take a couple hours to show up). Remember, the password was included in the review reply I sent you. IF YOU LEFT AN ANONYMOUS REVIEW OR IF YOU HAD PRIVATE MESSAGING DISABLED, I obviously couldn't send you the password to the outtakes. So if you want it, you need to get into contact with me. If you don't have a FFnet account, now would be a great opportunity to get one. Then drop me a PM letting me know that you reviewed.


	8. Part Eight

I want to thank **aimmyarrowshigh** for helping this chapter along in its ugly early stages and **amaggiepie** and **sunshiiine23** for continuing their invaluable beta work. This story would be crap without your guys.

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART EIGHT**

Clary runs the tips of her fingers over every line until she can feel them in her skin.

_Daemon (alt. Daimon) – An incorporeal being that requires a host to survive in the physical world. A daemon may take temporary possession of an inanimate object but requires a sentient being to act as a permanent host. The first recorded daemon possession occurred c. 420 BC, when a mundane by the name of Socrates was bonded to a daemon of wisdom. The effects of a daemon on the human host vary. Each daemon is imbued with the essence of a virtue or vice, which is then transmitted to the person it bonded with (i.e. wisdom, valor, love, lust, greed, wrath). There are no confirmed instances of a permanent daemonic bond ever being broken. Daemons are rare; there have been only five verified cases within the last century…_

The text confirms what Magnus had said: that the light that left the gargoyle and struck Alec was actually a daemon entering his body and binding itself to his soul. That after that moment, he had more love inside of him than ever before. That when he opened his eyes and saw Clary, the daemon had fixated to her, chosen her to receive it all. And that the daemon was now as much a part of Alec as his bones or his soul. Inseparable.

After Magnus had his revelation, he asked to speak with Alec alone. No one objected to his request, not even Alec. Clary wanted to say something to him before leaving, but he still refused to look at her, and she really couldn't think of anything to say given the bizarre circumstances. Instead, she followed Isabelle out the door and fought the temptation to turn around, even when a prickling at the back of her neck told her she was being watched.

It's nearing one in the morning, and Alec still hasn't returned to the Institute. Clary hopes it means he and Magnus were able to come to some understanding and that they're working on finding a way to fix what happened. She tries not to dwell on what it will mean if they can't break the bond and Alec's trapped with these feelings for the rest of his life. It's not fair. It's not fair that he can't love who he wants to and that she's somehow become responsible for another person's unhappiness.

Alec loving her for the next few days is one thing. But loving her forever is another situation entirely. She can hardly wrap her mind around the implications.

But there's something she _can _do. She can try to get to the bottom of what's going on in the city. The only demonic activity over last couple of months has been the attack of the daemon and the appearance of Hayden's doppelganger. There's little doubt that the two incidents are connected in some way—all that's left is to figure out who's pulling the strings and what it is they want.

Clary looks at Jace's long body stretched motionlessly across the bed. He fell asleep less than an hour ago but hasn't stirred once. The revelation of Alec's new feelings hadn't gone over well with him, and he was broodingly silent during the trip back from Magnus's apartment. When they arrived at the Institute, he and Clary had holed up in the library and researched for an hour; he emerged even more disgruntled than before when they didn't find any encouraging information. Clary tried talking to him about it but he was too stubborn—too _Jace_—to respond to any of her rationalizing.

It will be better in the morning, she knows, after he's slept and had time to think logically about it. Then again, he probably won't be too happy with _her_ in the morning when he finds out she did exactly what he asked her not to do.

With one more glance at his relaxed face, Clary slips from the room into the dark hallway. Her backpack is waiting against the wall by the door, and she grabs it, checking to make sure she has everything. Gear. Socks. Boots. Seraph blade. Dagger.

Shadowhunter gear is designed for freedom of movement and protection from physical assaults. It isn't made to keep out the cold. When Clary steps out of the Institute, the wind whips at her exposed skin like a lash of ice. She shivers but then fingers the hilt of the blade on her belt and feels a little warmer. The gentle burning of the Marks she's just applied linger against her skin.

As she descends the steps, she notices a shadow moving away from the wall. She tenses for only a moment before recognizing Simon's white face catching the moonlight.

"What are you—"

"I know you." He shrugs. "I know that you meant it when you said the best idea was for you to draw out the baddies by exposing yourself. And here you are. Exposing yourself."

Clary pauses on the last step, wary that he might attempt to physically restrain her. "Then you also know that you can't talk me out of it," she says.

"I know you're prone to bouts of craziness and that the results tend to be less devastating when I'm around."

Clary eyes him doubtfully. He's changed clothes since she saw him at Magnus's place. He's wearing dark clothes and dark coat that give him a very _Blade_ look—albeit paler and scrawnier. "So you're not here to stop me?"

"If I were, I would be using my 'intimidation face.'"

"You don't have an 'intimidation face.'"

"So the answer to your question would be: 'I'm here to help you not die.'" Simon starts walking down the street, and Clary reluctantly follows after him.

"I appreciate that," she says and means it. "But I should probably do this myself. You might scare them off."

"I thought we agreed that I don't do intimidation?"

Clary's eyes go to the black Mark of Cain just barely visible through Simon's shaggy bangs. It hasn't been put to the test yet, but that's probably because no one's been willing to bet their life.

"Would you prefer for me to follow you by skulking in the shadows?" Simon asks earnestly as they cross a deserted intersection. "I'll do it if you promise not to tell Jace. He still thinks I'm part rat, you know."

"Since when do you care what Jace thinks about you?"

"I _don't_ care what he thinks of me. It's just common sense not to give a book of matches to a pyromaniac."

Clary purses her lips. "He's not that bad. I don't understand why you two have to give each other such a hard time."

"You're nervous. You get moody when you're nervous." Simon looks at her sideways. "So where are we going?"

Clary hesitates before answering. She didn't really have a plan beyond walking around in the open and waiting for someone—or something—to show up. But if there was going to be a confrontation, it would be better if there weren't a lot of people around. "Central Park."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The darkness is almost oppressive as they enter the park, as if all the city lights have been warded off at its paved boundaries. It's a trick of her mind, she knows. A pinch of her nerves. Clary's more on edge than before, despite Simon's efforts to make light-hearted conversation about school, his band, and Eric's recent foray into fantasy fiction writing. She listens to him with half an ear but focuses on the trees, searching for anything that could be hidden in the swaying shadows. They follow the road a little ways before turning off into the trees and coming to the large clearing ringed with softball fields. There is no one in sight and no sound but the shivering of dead leaves as they are stripped from their branches by the strong wind.

But there's something moving amongst them.

"…and naturally I was the inspiration for his main character. Except that Fictional Me is five inches taller and has red eyes that—"

Clary cuts Simon off with a firm grip on his arm. He follows her gaze to the dark shadows crouched low in the grass and circling their way towards them. Yellow, slotted eyes glimmer in the faint light.

"What are they?" Simon whispers.

They're close enough now that she can see their snout-like faces and the rows of razor-like quills down their backs. Clary slowly reaches for her seraph blade. "Bryne demons. The needles are poison-tipped."

"This is where a well thought-out plan would have come in handy."

Without further warning, the Bryne demons abandon their attempt at concealment, springing forward in a full-on charge. Clary barely has the time to note that there are three of them before they launch themselves into the air with a loud whine that rings in her ears. She and Simon dive to either side to avoid their outstretched claws. A moment later she's rolled onto her feet and with a muttered word has her seraph blade humming in her hand.

Two of the demons stare her down, hissing incomprehensible threats.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Jace swears into his pillow at the sound of someone pounding persistently on his door. . He sighs and turns to see if it has woken Clary as well, but her side of the bed empty. She was there when he fell asleep. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes as he scans the room. There's no sign of her. The bed is cold on her side, but judging by the darkness of sky and the exhaustion in his body, she hasn't been gone long.

The knocking is persistent. Alec's voice calls out to him. "Jace? Jace, are you up?"

Jace grumbles another curse, but gets to his feet and manages to open the door before Alec can knock it down. "What time is it?"

Alec glances impatiently at his watch. "Just after two. Listen—"

Jace moves to close the door. Alec wedges his foot in next to the frame.

"Clary," he says. "Is she with you?"

Jace's fingers clench around the doorknob. He looks for the accusation in his _parabatai_'s face, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. Years of practiced apathy are the only thing that allows Jace to respond indifferently. "No. Why would she be?"

But Alec is already withdrawing back into the hallway. "She's gone."

The ground seems to tip beneath his feet, and Jace has to catch himself against the door. "What do you mean?" He wants to turn back into his room, check beneath the bed and in the shower. But he already knows he won't find her there.

"She's not in her room, or the training room, or the greenhouse, or the kitchen, and Church"—Alec points to the cat lying as a listless ball of fur at his feet—"brought me here, so I hoped maybe…"

Jace rakes a hand through his hair. "Dammit. I _told_ her going out on her own wasn't worth it. I told her that we would deal with this as a group."

Alec digs through his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. "And you thought she would listen?" He hits a couple of buttons and holds it to his ear.

Jace should have made her promise to stay put. He should have stayed up until he was sure she was asleep. This is exactly what he should have expected from her.

Jace impatiently waits for Alec to give up trying to call her. As soon as he hears the call click over to voicemail, he tells Alec to go get supplies from the weapons room. "I'll get something to track her with and meet you outside."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Clary has one end of her seraph blade through the sternum of a Bryne demon when Simon cries out.

She jerks her hand back, sending ichor splashing across her chest, the demon folding into nothingness at her feet. She whips around in the direction of Simon's voice and is caught completely off guard when something heavy hits her square in the chest. The impact with the ground kicks the air from her lungs. She gasps and isn't able to get her arm up quickly enough to stop a clawed foot from raking the side of her face.

Clary ignores the painful sting and blood welling beneath her eye as she rolls sideways to trap the demon underneath her. It whines and thrashes, but she's able to get a firm hold on the dagger at her hip. With a twist of her hand, she plunges the short blade into the demon's exposed side. She withdraws it only to drive it back in. After two more stabs the demon disappears, leaving Clary lying on the grass, surrounded by silence.

"Simon?"

"I'm here."

He's standing over her and offers a hand to help her up. She lets him pull her to her feet.

"Are you hurt?" Her eyes travel over him, but he looks as immaculate as he did before the attack.

Simon shakes his head in wonder. "No. Not at all."

"But I heard you—"

"Clary, run!"

Clary turns and follows Simon's gaze. More Bryne demons are creeping forward from the cover of the trees. Clary can make out at least a five pairs of glowing eyes converging on them. She's just about to take Simon's advice and make a run for it when Simon begins to walk _toward _the advancing demons.

"Simon!"

"They can't hurt me. Just go."

"Of course they can hurt you!" Clary grabs at Simon's coat sleeve. "Come on! There's too many of them."

He shakes her off. "I'm telling you, they can't hurt me. I think it's the Mark—"

One of the demons runs forward, but just as it's about to collide with Simon, it falls backward as if it ran into an invisible wall. Clary watches, dumbfounded, as the demon suddenly splits into two—right down the middle of its body—and then explodes in a cloud of black ichor. There isn't even enough of it left to return to its home dimension.

Simon looks wide-eyed at Clary. "I think I've got this."

She stares back at him, speechless.

"Clary. _Go_."

This time she doesn't hesitate. She turns on her heel and sprints back down the path that winds away from the clearing through the trees. Behind her, the frenzied hissing of the demons is punctuated by an awful ripping sound, and she knows that another one has met its fate. The first demon's miserable death plays over again in her mind as she races past a couple of teenagers who can't see her.

Did _Simon_ really do that?

She doesn't stop running until all sounds from the clearing have fallen away and the only sound she hears is that of her feet pounding on the pavement. She stops, turning to gaze in the direction of the clearing, and waits. Her face is throbbing in time with the rapid pulsing of her heart. Blood has begun running from her cheek to her neck.

Her chest hurts, and she looks down to see that the front of her gear is shredded where the demon had been trapped against her. She should use her stele, but her fingers are numb.

"Hello, Clary."

He's standing in the grass to her side, just off the path. He looks exactly as he did that morning in the bookstore and yet nothing like the boy she saw in a coffin. She wonders now how she could have ever mistaken them for the same person. "Who are you?"

"Right now?" He lifts his hands, wiggling his fingers with the mechanical stiffness of a marionette. "I'm Hayden."

"You're not." She shakes her head vehemently. "Are you a demon?"

His lips curl in a mocking grin she never saw Hayden use. "You're still wondering after all the time we've spent together?"

"Then what are you?"

"A Downworlder. A warlock skilled enough to show up your friend, the _High Warlock of Brooklyn_. I was right there under his nose, and he didn't even notice."

Clary grits her teeth and stays put even though every instinct is telling her to drive her seraph blade through his heart. "What do you want?"

He laughs and kicks at the grass. "Nothing. I have what I want."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I owe someone. He gave me something very valuable, and in return I'm helping him out."

"Who?"

"I bet you already know. You saw him yourself, after all." He tilts his head, still smiling. "Or was that just some fairy dust in your eye?"

Clary feels the night's cold rush into her all at once. She recalls Magnus's party and the glimpse of a face she would never forget. "Sebastian."

The warlock snaps his fingers. "Yes. That's it. Sebastian. _Just_ Sebastian. No last name. Interesting guy."

"He's a murderer." She thinks of Max and the dozens of others who died that night in Alicante after Sebastian set the demons loose on the city.

"We're all killers in one way or another." The warlock shrugs his—_Hayden's_—shoulders. "Just be glad he doesn't want _you_ dead. Yet."

"What _does_ Sebastian want?"

"Suffering. Revenge." He takes a step forward, and Clary holds her ground. "But at the moment? He wants you to come with me."

She scoffs and grips her seraph blade tighter. "Right. I'm not stupid."

"No. Just desperate." His unnatural grin finally melts away into blank apathy. "I have a deal for you."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The train is practically empty, and Alec and Jace have the car to themselves. Jace has never resented relying on mundane transportation more than he does at this moment, knowing that Clary could be in danger while they're slowing down to approach a stop that isn't even theirs. If he still had that enchanted motorcycle, he wouldn't be wasting time like this.

"Stop that."

Jace glares at Alec, who's looking pointedly at the seraph blade Jace was absently knocking against one of the floor-to-ceiling poles. "No, I don't think I will. Your irritation is the only thing keeping me entertained."

Alec sighs.

"Why were you looking for Clary?"

"What?"

"Why were you in Clary's room in the middle of the night?" Jace _does_ stop the tapping then. Across the narrow aisle, Alec looks wary. "What was so important it couldn't wait until morning?"

"I wanted to explain the rest of what Magnus told me after you left."

"You think you're in love with Clary because you're possessed by a daemon. We get rid of the daemon, and you go back to liking men that sparkle. What more is there?"

"It's not that simple."

Jace looks away. The first thing he did after getting back to the Institute was look up whatever information he could find on daemons. He knows how rare daemons are and that successfully removing one from a person is unheard of. "We'll find a way."

"Magnus left."

Jace looks back at Alec in surprise. "New York?"

Alec nods and looks somewhat regretful. "He wanted to talk to some people who might know more about it. In Kenya somewhere."

"Are you two…"

"We've decided to take a break until we figure this out. Staying together wouldn't be fair to him."

Jace is silent. A man enters the car but can't see either of them through their glamours. He settles in a couple seats down from Alec, and the train starts back up again. The tracking rune on Jace's right hand lets him know they're getting closer. "And that's what you wanted to tell Clary?" he says.

"I owe her an explanation."

"You love her."

Jace unconsciously holds his breath as he waits for the denial he didn't get earlier that day. He needs to know that Alec doesn't want this, doesn't want Clary.

"It's all just confusing right now," Alec hedges. "I think talking to her about it would help."

"And what if you do something you regret when you're back to normal?" Jace shakes his head. "I won't let you hurt her like that. She's my sister—"

"And I'm your brother," says Alec, looking hurt. "You know me, Jace. We're _parabatai_."

Jace wonders if Luke ever said that to Valentine. He wonders if Valentine ever looked at his _parabatai_ and saw what Jace is seeing now. Someone who's better.

"I told you I would never let anything happen to her," Alec continues. "I meant it."

"That's not your job," says Jace, suddenly very eager to get off the train and out into the open air. He feels like he's suffocating.

A couple minutes later, the train slows to a stop and Jace hurries to the car door. As he waits impatiently for it to open, Alec appears at his side. "It's not a job," he says.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"So do we have a deal?"

Clary bites the inside of her cheek, her mind and heart racing as she considers his words. "How do I know you'll actually do it? That you even have the—"

The warlock reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small, white, leather-bound book no bigger than the paperback novels that line the front shelves at Luke's store. It looks completely ordinary, save for the gilded letters that Clary is able to make out despite the darkness of the park. She recognizes the Latin words for 'white' and 'book,' and as she reads the title, she feels something akin to recognition. She has never seen the Book of the White, but looking at it now, she feels she could never mistake it for something else. The power it contains is almost palpable. Somewhere inside of it is the spell that will wake her mother.

Hope warms her frozen fingers, and Clary subconsciously takes a half-step toward. _It's so close._

As if he can sense her eagerness, the warlock taps his fingers against the spine and then returns it to his jacket. Clary meets his knowing eyes.

"Of course, you'll want some way of knowing that I'll keep up my end of the bargain." This time he turns over his left hand and parts his fist to reveal a dark, smooth stone the size of a chicken's egg, with the same oblong shape.

"What is it?"

"A Warlock Promise." He tosses the stone in the air and catches it without looking. "I swear an oath on this, and it will hold me to my word. Just ask the High Warlock of Brooklyn," he adds at Clary's doubtful look. "But, of course, I need to know that we have a deal first."

Clary hesitates, but she can't ignore how close she is to the Book of the White and her mother's cure. After months of sitting around, waiting for some clue to the book's location, it's finally right in front of her. She won't get this sort of chance again.

"Alright. I agree. I'll do it. As long you promise to wake up my mother."

He smirks as if she'd just taken the bait to a trap, and in her heart, Clary knows that she probably has. But she doesn't back out. She can't.

"Good." He wraps his fingers around the stone, and it begins to pulse with bright, blue light. "I swear by the Mother's blood which ran through the veins of my father to uphold my end of the deal, so long as you fulfill yours."

The light pulses once and then recedes until it is nothing but a faint glimmer inside the stone.

"Done." He tosses it to Clary with a casual flick of his wrist, and she nearly drops her seraph blade in order to catch it. "And it seems that our time is up."

She follows his gaze over her shoulder to see three figures in black coming around the bend in the path. _ Jace_, she thinks nervously.

"A week from tonight," the warlock tells her. "At the place where the vampires go to die."

"You don't want me to swear by the Angel that I'll do it?"

The warlock contorts Hayden's face into an unfamiliar expression of amused condescension. "I know you'll be there."

A moment later, he's vanished from sight.

"Clary!"

She turns just as Jace reaches her, coming to a sudden stop less than a foot away. His eyes rove over her body, looking for any signs of injury. She can tell that he's holding back, that if they were alone, he would have pulled her into his arms and embraced her until his fears of never holding her again were banished. But they're not alone, so instead he stares at her helplessly as Simon and Alec finally catch up to them.

"Are you alright?" Simon asks.

Clary nods. "I'm fine."

"You're hurt." Jace reaches out to trail his fingers along her cheek, and the tips come away stained with red.

Clary winces. "I'm fine."

Jace takes a step closer and pulls aside the collar of her gear. He raises his stele and gently draws its tip across the exposed skin. Clary can feel the familiar curves of an _irtaze_.

Simon turns in a slow circle, taking in their surroundings. "He's gone. And so are those demons."

With the rune complete, Jace moves back from Clary, but not before secretly brushing his thumb across her collarbone. "It's a good thing you're here, Simon, to make such keen observations."

"Who was it?" Alec asks, and Clary's eyes fall on him for the first time since his arrival. There's a half-second when she doesn't understand the worried look he's giving her before she remembers the daemon and Alec's confession about his feelings for her.

Clary's face heats, and she shifts awkwardly under his scrutiny. "It was the person who killed Hayden. A warlock. He's the one who's been impersonating him."

Jace looks at her wide-eyed. "A warlock? That kind of magic doesn't exist."

"It does in the Book of the White. And he has it."

Jace lets out a quiet string of curses, while Alec looks troubled. "How did he manage to get his hands on that? Magnus has been looking everywhere for it."

"Wait." Simon holds up a hand. "The Book of the White…isn't that what you need to wake up your mom?"

Clary nods while watching Jace, who quickly schools his face into a mask of indifference. "He said he would do the spell to wake her up."

"Out of the goodness of his heart, I'm sure," Simon mutters.

"He's working for someone." Clary hesitates. "It's Sebastian. He's the one responsible for all the strange demon activity, and he's the one who gave the book to the warlock."

Jace doesn't miss a beat. "That's impossible. Sebastian is dead. I put a dagger in his back myself."

"But they never found a body." Alec looks away, his high cheek bones colored an angry red. Clary knows he must be thinking about Max. "He could have survived. Why would this warlock make up something like that?"

"He did survive," Clary says adamantly, and this time Jace doesn't argue. "And he wants to meet with me. Alone."

Simon's eyebrows shoot up. "With _you_? Why? I mean, don't get me wrong. You're a good kisser and everything, but he doesn't strike me as the type of guy who would go through all of this just to get a girl. Unless demon manipulation and warlock blackmail is his idea of foreplay. In which case…gross."

"It's not blackmail. It's a trade. I meet Sebastian, and the warlock uses the Book of the White to wake up my mom. He even gave me this." Clary shows them the stone, a dim light still visible just below the crystal-like surface.

Alec leans in closer to get a better look. Clary can feel the heat of him against her shoulder. "A Warlock Promise. I've never seen one in person." He reaches out to take the stone but hesitates when his fingers are a hair's breadth from her hand. He clears his throat. "May I?"

Clary nods and drops it in his palm.

"You know you can't actually go see Sebastian _alone_, right?" Jace says as Alec examines the stone.

"I know." The _iratze_ is working well enough that the pain from the cut on her cheek has been reduced to a dull throb. She can still feel the dried blood caked on her face. "But now we know where the book will be on Monday night. He said to meet him at 'the place where vampires go to die.'"

Simon frowns. "The sun?"

Jace shakes his head. "It's a place down by the docks. Not far from where you destroyed Valentine's ship. There's a building there designed to allow vampires to watch from safety as one of their own is left out to burn with the dawn. It's how head vampires keep their covens in order and punish those who stray from the laws laid down by the Accords. With enough Shadowhunters, it should be an easy enough location to secure."

Alec passes the Promise back to Clary. "The warlock. Did he give you a name?"

"No. And he was still using Hayden's body, so I can't tell you what he looks like either."

"The stone matches the descriptions I've read, but Warlock Promises aren't common anymore. It might not be legitimate. I would suggest asking Magnus, but…"

"He left town," Jace finishes.

"What?" Simon gapes at her. "Why?"

But Alec's not looking at Simon. He's looking at Clary with wary blue eyes like twin lost souls. It feels like days since she had sat across from him in Taki's and listed to his doubts about Magnus. It's hard to believe that just that morning he had said those words to her. _I think I might have feelings for someone else_…_How do you tell the difference? How do you know when it's the right way?_

How had she not known right then? How did she not even _suspect_? It seems painfully obvious now.

Alec looks away and clears his throat. "He has to look into a few things."

"We should head back," Jace says after a moment of heavy silence. Clary can't read his expression, but the adrenaline from her encounter with the Bryne demon and the warlock is dwindling. She's tired, cold, and the wounded part of her face is starting to go numb from the _iratze_. She's in no condition to decipher his mood, and he won't tell her anything until they're alone anyway.

Clary sighs. "You're right. Let's go."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Sorry for the wait on this chapter. I had final exams in December, and I've spent January getting ready for my move to the UK (my flight is on Tuesday!). Thank you for all of the fabulous feedback on the last chapter. I'm glad you guys enjoyed it and the outtakes I posted. I'll have to do more of those. :)

I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out. Hopefully it will be soon-ish, but I'm writing a couple of other shorter fics, so we'll see.


	9. Part Nine

**Amaggiepie** and **sunshiiine23** get all of the awards for their hard beta work on this chapter. They were supper speedy and super helpful. :)

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART NINE**

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, aren't you going to start yelling at me?" Clary shivers as Jace gently rubs ointment over the healing cut on her face. The buttery, aloe-scented paste is supposed to keep the laceration from scaring. "You haven't told me how rash and foolish it was to go out on my own, yet."

Jace wipes his hand on a clean rag lying on the bedside table and sets aside the medicinal jar. "Do you want me to yell?"

"No. It's just rare for you to pass up the opportunity." She knows that she's pushing her luck, but there's a part of her that thinks she should be yelled at. If their places were reversed, she would have quite a few angry words for _him_.

Jace makes a frustrated sound and turns to lean back against the wall, arms hanging limply at his sides.

In the infirmary there is a wall of cabinets that used to be stocked with enough bandages, healing herbs, sutures, needles, and tonics to keep a small army healthy. Since Hodge's death, the supplies have been neglected, dwindling down to just a couple shelves of cloth strips and ointments that never go bad. It reminds Clary that people are always much more than any one person can imagine them to be; they touch so many things.

"I'm angry that you left," Jace says, "that you would risk yourself like that without letting me help you."

"You wouldn't have helped me. You would have stopped me."

Jace looks at her through the fringe of his disheveled hair. "Yes. But you have to understand why…"

"I know," Clary says more softly. "But you have to understand why I had to do it. If I hadn't, he would have kept playing with us. Someone would have gotten hurt."

"I know." As if drawn by a taught line that runs between them, Jace moves towards her, slowly closing the distance until his legs are pressed against her bent knees. "And now there's Sebastian. He wants something from you."

She can feel the Warlock Promise in her pocket, digging into her thigh. "Yes. And if I show up like I said I would, then the warlock will have the Book of the White with him, and we can wake up my mother—"

"Our mother."

"What?"

"She's _our_ mother." His gold eyes are half hidden behind lowered lashes. "When she wakes up, Jocelyn will be my mother even if I don't want her to be and even if she doesn't want me."

"Of course she'll want you," Clary protests, but she can already tell where this is leading. Helpless, she twists her hands in Jace's shirt.

"Then we'll be a family, won't we? She'll probably move into the Institute or demand that we leave, and I'll be your brother more than ever. It won't be like it is now with just the two of us."

She leans forward until her forehead is resting against his shoulder. "I know it will be harder."

"Alec's in love with you. He left Magnus. He—"

"Stop it."

Jace shakes his head. "I feel like I'm losing you." His lips touch her ear, sending shivers down her spine. "They're going to take you away from me."

Her arms go around him. The heat of his back warms her cold fingers. _Impossible_, she wants to tell him, but it will not reassure him. Words are something a sister can give as easily as a lover can.

She draws her mouth over the skin of his neck and up to the stubbled angle of his jaw. "Make love to me here."

The tension leaves him in the wake of an uneven breath, as his hands squeeze her sides in an unspoken 'thank you.' She slides back, and Jace follows her onto the bed, reaching for her before either of them is settled. It comes easily now, the seeking and the finding, so that the pressure of his palm on her hips tells her _lie back_, and the arch of her foot on his calf says _slowly_.

This time they're not racing but grasping something tightly, something that's strengthened the longer they hold out. So when Clary finally comes undone, Jace following close behind her, she feels they've worn each other bone-deep, ruined for anyone else.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"You're saying I can't physically assault Simon? Ever?"

Leaning against Luke's kitchen counter, Simon gives Isabelle a dry look. "You sound crushed."

"On your behalf."

"Finally." Simon throws his hands up. "Someone who understands—"

"I mean, you'll never get to have kinky sex."

Jace crosses his arms behind his head and stretches his legs out onto the kitchen chair opposite his own. "I don't think that was a possibility _before_ he got the Mark."

"What happens if a girl tries to bite you?" Isabelle wonders, blowing across her mug of steaming hot chocolate. "In a horny way."

"Are you volunteering as test subject?" Jace asks.

Isabelle scoffs. "Of course not. But in the future, some poor, unsuspecting girl may try to bite him and then fall over dead."

"Actually, it was less of a falling and more of an exploding."

Ankles crossed, Jace reclines back in his seat. "It does bring a new poignancy to the phrase 'bite me.'"

Simon frowns. "Now that you mention it, I should probably get rid of that t-shirt. It's suddenly more murderous than ironic."

"Here it is."

As soon as Clary enters the kitchen, Jace's eyes move to her, a reflex he's become more and more aware of over the last week. It's a tell he's given up trying to control, one he feels is rather harmless. It's worth it to always catch Clary looking back.

She's hoisting a wide, thick book that bears signs of age and water damage. It hits the table with a clattering _thud_ that almost sends Isabelle's drink toppling over. "I remember coming across this when we were doing all that research. It's a complete analysis of the Bible."

Simon eyes the hefty tome. "It's definitely rocking the whole "big and old" thing. I'm already convinced of its authority."

"A Shadowhunter wrote it about 50 years ago. This is just the first volume, which should include Genesis…"

"Which mentions the Mark of Cain," Simon finishes, dragging the book towards him and earning an annoyed glare from Isabelle when she has to maneuver out of his way.

Clary nods. "I'm not sure if it will be helpful, but we don't have anything else to go off of." She hides a yawn behind her hand and then rubs at her eyes.

Aside from Isabelle, none of them have slept since their late night outing, though Jace thinks Clary might have dozed off for a few minutes in the infirmary. Even now, he feels the buzz of adrenaline that hasn't dissipated since Alec woke him up and told him Clary was gone. So when he hears someone approaching the front door of the house, he's on his feet and has his seraph blade drawn before the others even stop to listen in.

"What's—"

A key turns in the lock. The door swings open on noisy hinges, and heavy footsteps grow louder until a stocky, disheveled figure fills the entryway to the kitchen.

Clary lights up. "Luke!"

The werewolf gives her a harried, sideways smile. "Hey, kiddo."

She's taken two steps towards him, when Maia appears from behind Luke's bulky frame. The moment Clary spots her, the smile falls from Clary's face and she hesitates moving closer.

Jace's hand clenches around the hilt of the seraph blade as he looks from Maia to Clary to Luke, trying to assess the situation. But Luke doesn't falter. He closes the distance between him and Clary and pulls her into a fatherly hug that seems to convince her of his ignorance as much as it does Jace. She wraps her arms tightly around him, eyes closed and a relieved sigh on her lips.

Maia hasn't told him.

Jace forces his body to relax.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming back?" Clary asks as she and Luke separate.

"No time. Last-minute plans."

Maia walks past them into the kitchen. She looks over Simon's shoulder at the book, which he has opened to the table of contents. "Doing some light reading, huh?"

"Thought I would try reading for pleasure again."

Maia grins. Isabelle rolls her eyes.

"Not that I mind you guys being here," Luke says as he squeezes Clary's shoulder, "but I know a dusty bookstore isn't exactly the most exciting place to"—he gestures to Isabelle draped elegantly over a kitchen chair—"hang out."

"We've been here a couple of times to do research." If Jace hadn't been watching Clary so intently, he would have missed the way her eyes darted to him on the last word. But she continues on naturally. "I wrote to you about the strange demon activity and that thing that attacked us."

Luke nods.

"Well, there was another attack last night. In the park. There were several Bryne demons who attacked Simon and me. But when they tried to hurt Simon, they died. It was like they were killed in mid-air by something invisible."

Luke catches on quickly. "You think it has something to do with the Mark of Cain?"

"And the Lord said unto him, 'Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him, should kill him,'" Simon reads.

"Sounds like a probable explanation," Luke offers but doesn't seem to have any additional insight. "Was the Bryne attack unprovoked like the last one?"

"They were after Clary."

Luke looks at Jace as if noticing him for the first time since his arrival. Something unnamable crosses the older man's face. "What do you mean?"

"The warlock who was pretending to be Hayden was there last night."

Luke's eyebrows come together over the rims of his glasses. "Who's Hayden?"

Clary bites her bottom lip. "I haven't had a chance to write you about _everything_ that's happened."

Sighing, Luke sets down the bulky pack hanging on his shoulder and takes a seat at the kitchen table. "Then I guess you better tell me everything now."

Instead of pulling Clary down onto his lap like he wants to, Jace moves his feet off the final chair so that she can join them. Briefly, she explains the time they spent with the person they thought was Hayden, the strange circumstances surrounding his death, and the lock of hair they found in his room. Luke's expression grows graver and graver as she talks..

"Until last night," Clary concludes, "we weren't sure what it was that had been impersonating him. He told me he did it using magic from the Book of the White."

"So this warlock is the person who's been controlling the demon activity in the city?" Luke watches the group exchange reluctant glances. "There's more?"

"He got the Book of the White from Sebastian," Clary says finally. "That's who he's working for."

It was a rare thing to see Luke caught of his guard, but the surprise was clear on his face. "Sebastian? The Shadowhunter boy who worked with Valentine?"

"That's the one," Isabelle said darkly into her mug.

"And he wants something from Clary?"

She takes a small stone from her pocket—the one she hadn't let out of her sight since last night—and places it carefully on the table. "It's a Warlock Promise."

Luke picks it up. "I've heard of them. What was the bargain?"

"I have to meet him and Sebastian next Friday night, and in return he'll bring the Book of the White and wake up Mom."

Luke draws a hand across the scruff on his chin and looks a few years older than when he first walked into the room. "Is that everything?"

"Yes."

A knock sounds on the front door just before it's opened. A moment later, Alec joins them in the kitchen. He heads straight for Clary. "There was one book at Magnus' that mentions Warlock Promises, and it said—Luke. Maia." His eyes widen briefly when they land on Clary's surrogate father sitting across the table from them. In a moment of self-consciousness, Alec takes a half-step away from her.

Isabelle blinks. "Oh. Right. And Alec's madly in love with Clary. Besides _that_, that's everything."

Alec shoots Isabelle a piercing look. "It's a long story."

Luke looks between the two of them. He shakes his head. "Right. You can explain that one to me later. Do your parents know about the deal for next Friday?"

"Oh, they don't know anything," Isabelle says with a wave of her hand. "They were gone this morning when we got up. Well, when _I_ got up. Apparently everyone else was already awake. Don't ask me how Mom and Dad managed to get out without them realizing."

"The Institute isn't exactly small," Clary mumbles, and despite the situation Jace has to smother a grin because he knows _exactly_ why they hadn't noticed.

"They probably left to go meet with the hefty delegation of Shadowhunters who arrived from Idris the same time I did."

_That _catches Jace's attention. "I thought our "lack of demons" problem wasn't _problematic_ enough for the Clave to bother with."

"It wasn't," Luke says. "Until they realized that a shard of the Mortal Sword had been stolen."

"What?"

Luke sighs. "Apparently, the Silent Brothers have been aware for a while that a small piece was missing, but it was attributed to damage caused to it while in Valentine's possession. The only other people who knew were the Consul and Inquisitor, and they really didn't think much of it."

"And the complete absence of demons in New York City didn't clue them in?" Isabelle retorts.

"Demon activity was unusual _everywhere_ after the battle in Idris. The Clave was short-handed and scrambling to regain control. Having one less place to worry about was convenient. It wasn't until I forced the issue that they took a second look at the sword and decided it was worth investigating.

"Hence the Shadowhunters they've sent," says Clary.

Jace crosses his arms. "Sebastian has the shard."

"That's what it's starting to look like," Luke agrees.

"Then we'll get it back Friday night." Alec's voice is firm with resolve. "Along with the Book of the White."

_And Sebastian's life._

It's the unspoken promise that has Jace nodding his agreement.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Nine Shadowhunters move into the Institute, taking over a handful of the unoccupied rooms that are always prepared for this exact sort of circumstance. Clary recognizes a couple of them from her brief stint in Idris. Among the guests are Patrick and Jia Penhallow, Aline's parents and Sebastian's aunt and uncle—though they express doubt as to whether or nothe was truly the Sebastian Verlac they knew only as a young child. It's difficult to confirm his identity because the family members Sebastian grew up with in Paris were all found dead in their home immediately following the battle in Idris.

But Clary supposes that it doesn't actually matter. Whoever he is, he killed Max and helped Valentine take dozens of other lives. And no matter what his name might be, he has the Book of the White and a shard of the Mortal Sword. He's proven that he's dangerous.

Clary effectively exiles herself to the training room during the week they have to prepare for the inevitable encounter. The first day, Clary is summoned by Maryse to give a detailed account of her run-in with the warlock. The group of adult Shadowhunters listens intently and then dismisses her before they begin their strategizing. Clary doesn't mind. No amount of planning will prepare her for what she has to do. She needs to train. She needs to be able to rely on her body because it is the only one she has. And if she focuses on that, then her mind will not wander to dangerous places.

The second morning, Alec is in the training room before her. He is there to continue her training while his parents are focused on organizing the new arrivals and the Clave's efforts. That's all he tells her before they begin. Clary is both relieved and uncertain as she follows him onto the mats.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"Do you think it will really work?" Clary asks Luke as she hands him a paper cup of coffee.

Jocelyn is as still and silent as ever in her hospital bed. With Luke in the room, Clary finds herself looking at her mother more closely, finding the small changes since she was first admitted. Jocelyn's hair is longer than Clary has even seen it, and it's as if the red color has been consequently stretched, like a little bit of paint spread over too much canvas. It does not shine under the fluorescent lights. Having gone so long without the sun, her complexion is pale, so that the scars of her old Marks are nearly indecipherable. The permanent runes stand out like black spiders on her skin.

Luke, too battle-tried to be anything but a realist, says, "I hope so. If Magnus seemed to think it would work, then I would say it's a good possibility. He's been around a long time."

"Then we'll be a family, won't we?" Jace's words find their way onto her lips. "You'll come back to New York, and things will be better."

Luke is as still as her mother, and Clary is suddenly mourning both of her parents. "We'll see."

Her lashes grow heavy with kept tears. "You can't leave again. I missed you."

_I needed you._

Luke is at a loss. "I had obligations in Idris."

"But you're the only family I have, and mom wasn't here."

"You have Jonathan."

Outside, clouds cross in front of the sun and the room dims with a passing darkness. "But that's different."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"I'm going to kill him."

"I know."

Jace sits on the floor of the weapons room, an array of blades spread neatly about him in a circle that glints like the halo of light surrounding a star. He is drawing runes onto the handle of a seraph blade, giving it the life it will need to, in turn, take life away.

Clary stands just outside the ring, watching.

"They're letting us fight," he says. "Isabelle and I. If Sebastian has the shard of the Mortal Sword, then he could have a host of demons at his command, and he may bring some with him when he comes to meet you. We have to be prepared, but I doubt it will come to that." "He thinks you'll keep your promise so that you can get the book. He won't expect us."

"I know." Clary stares at the dagger in her hands—small, slim, easily concealed, but deadly sharp.

Jace's fingers touch her cheek, and Clary looks up into his bright eyes. She hadn't even heard him get up. "We'll find another way," he tells her. "We'll get the book another way, and Magnus can do the spell. I promise we'll wake Jocelyn up."

Clary covers his hand with hers. "I know." She turns her head and kisses his palm.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Clary's body hits the mat for the sixth time in as many minutes. There's a moment when she just stares up at the rafters and the early afternoon light coming in from the high, gothic windows. But then she's back on her feet and reclaiming the defensive stance that has become second nature. Alec's arm swings towards her between blinks, and she barely has the chance to deflect the strike before he's grabbed the wrist of her other hand and spun her around into his body, one arms locked over her chest, the other hooked around her neck. She tries to get her foot behind the back of his knee, but he catches her toes beneath his heel. She's trapped.

Clary grunts. "Yield."

When he releases her, she hobbles forward several steps, shaking out her foot and rubbing at her wrist. Alec never really hurts her, but he does get more physical with her than Robert. She's glad that he's not afraid to push.

Clary turns toward him now, hands raised in case he comes at her right away, but he's not even looking at her. He's heading off the mats, toward the bench where their water bottles are.

"I think that's enough of that," Alec says, his chest rising and falling quickly from the exertion of their sparring. They've been at it all morning. "I'm just beating up on you now."

"I'm not_ that_ awful." She's actually proud of the improvements she's made since the summer, when she didn't even know how to throw a punch.

"You weren't," Alec agrees. "But you're too tired. We can pick it up again later."

Reluctantly, Clary let her arms drop to her sides. They feel heavy, but it's a good heaviness, a good tired. She pulls at the clinging material of her sweaty shirt until she finds a dry spot to dab against the corners of her eyes. When she raises her head, she notices Alec watching her, but when their gazes meet, he looks away.

With her heart rate slowing, there is nothing to drown out her thoughts as they crowd up around her, louder than they were before she started working out. The training room is silent and stark in a way that begs disruption. "Jace said you were looking for me the other night," she says, and the words sound too loud and indelicate in her ears. More softly she adds, "You were the one who noticed I was gone."

Alec appears very interested in the cap of his water bottle. "Yeah, I was."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "I guess I wanted to talk about what I had said."

"About being in love with me?"

His eyes flash up to find hers. "Yeah. That."

"Look, Alec, I understand," she says, and the words come so easily to her that they feel rehearsed. "You don't have any control over the way you feel, and it wasn't your choice for it to be this way. I'm just not sure what we're supposed to do until things go back to the way they were before."

Setting aside the bottle, Alec shakes his head. "Everyone keeps telling me it will go away. That this,"—he gestures to the space between them as if there is something tangible there—"is only temporary. But it doesn't feel that way."

"Then how does it feel?"

"Like…I can't remember what it was like before—when I didn't love you."

Clary bites down on her lip until it hurts. "Is it…Are you attracted to me? Physically, I mean," she hurries to add when he looks at her uncomprehendingly. "Because Isabelle's right. I'm a girl and you…"

Alec begins removing his gloves, undoing the snaps around the wrist and then lightly tossing them aside. In three steps, he's closed the distance between them. There's no hesitation when he raises his hand to her chin and gently tips it up so that she meets his eyes. He's looking at her in a familiar way, and there's no second guessing his intention as his lips near hers. He pauses just before they meet, but she doesn't pull away. He kisses her and she lets him.

His lips are chapped and warm. He's taller than either Simon or Jace, and she reflexively grasps the hem of his shirt to keep her balance as he leans over her. Beyond that, Clary remains perfectly still, allowing him to softly meet her mouth once and then twice. The first time is proof; the second is an unspoken possibility so fragile that it fades as soon as he draws away.

They're still close enough that Clary can feel his breath on her cheek. The heat left by his touch dissipates slowly. "Alec, I can't…"

"I know. It wouldn't be fair. But I wanted to." He steps back. "Just once."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

It's Thursday night. Everyone is keyed up after six days of restless waiting and biding of time, so Isabelle suggests that they meet up at Taki's for a dinner that will help "chill everyone the fuck out." Clary gets the text as she's leaving the small grocery store down the street from the Institute. She's the first one there, so she grabs the biggest table they have—a corner booth with a bright vinyl wrap-around bench seat. Jace arrives a few moments later, and he slides around next to her. They hold hands beneath the table and listen to the tangle of customer voices that thinly veil the R&B music playing over the speaker system. Clary wants to lay her head on his shoulder but doesn't.

She hasn't decided whether or not to tell Jace about the kiss.

_The kiss._ Barely a kiss. More of a confession, really. She felt it as words spoken so intimately they had left a physical memory on her skin. Alec's touch had said nothing that Jace doesn't already know: "I love you, and I can't pretend that I don't."

And yet, at the same time, it was more than that. The kiss conveyed an addendum, an "I love you, and I can't pretend that I don't, and I am not afraid." She's not sure that's something she could communicate to Jace.

Clary is pondering this when Maia arrives. She greets them as mildly as always. But now that it's just the three of them, Clary thinks there's something like pity in the way Maia looks at the two of them sitting close together but not visibly touching. It makes Clary uncomfortable, and she grips Jace's hand more tightly.

"Still no word from Magnus?" Maia asks, an unambiguous attempt at small talk.

"No," Clary answers. "He's still…traveling."

"Alec seems to be taking it well. I mean, I know we're all kind of busy with this Sebastian thing at the moment, but I thought he would be more worried."

"It's complicated," Jace deadpans.

Clary doesn't have more than a moment to worry about his rudeness before Alec, Isabelle and Simon file into the front door of Taki's all at once. There's some squishing and some rearranging, and Jace and Clary are finally forced to relinquish their hold on one another as the waiter comes to take everyone's order. Clary avoids catching Alec's gaze.

As they wait for their food, the conversation quickly turns to plans for the next day.

"I'm tired of waiting. I'm ready to see that bastard bleed," Isabelle declares while squeezing a lemon into her water glass. "And he's _mine_, Jace, so don't get in my way."

Alec, who has collapsed back against the cushioned seat, shakes his head. "I want Sebastian to pay as much you guys, but you can't be reckless about it. He's dangerous."

"We're not going to be reckless. We're going to be passionate. And single-minded. Passionately single-minded." Jace does not smile when he says this, and Clary is glad that he is not looking at her. She's afraid he might see something in her face.

"Just remember that we _are_ following a plan. Mom and Dad's plan." Alec crosses his arms. "We've all been assigned a part."

"Yeah." Isabelle uses her straw to swirl the ice cubes in her drink. "I've been assigned to kill things."

Jace's shoulder rises and falls in a half-shrug. "And my job is to kill things better than Isabelle."

"I walk around and let things try to kill me," Simon says sourly.

Sympathetically, Clary lays her hand over his on the table top. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. There are going to be plenty of other people there to take care of the fighting."

But Simon shakes his head. "No way am I missing _this_. I'm not going to sit back and relax while you risk your life."

Isabelle is looking at their intertwined hands. "Clary does have the unfair advantage of getting close to Sebastian before anyone else does."

Jace's fingers dig into of Clary's thigh. Under the pretense of smoothing the napkin across her lap, she strokes the inside of his wrist reassuringly. Forcing neutrality into her voice, she says, "I guess you and Jace will have some competition then."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Clary allows Jace to lead her out of the elevator, their hands still clasped together. It's late. The first ones to arrive at Taki's, they were also the last to leave. She can't remember what excuse Jace gave-something about wanting Clary to try a new desert on the menu, or some other equally flimsy pretext. No one questioned them, of course, being brother and sister and two Shadowhunters who are perfectly capable of walking home at night. If Maia gave them a knowing look, Clary didn't see it.

Now, after spending the last couple of hours talking quietly and holding hands in the back of a Mundane movie theater—a place they were certain not to be recognized—she and Jace have returned to a dark, silent Institute. It feels eerily like the calm that sets in before an approaching storm. They walk down the halls, through a barracks of warriors sleeping only so that tomorrow they may test their strength. By the time she and Jace reach her door, Clary feels the indolent mood of the evening wearing away. The reality of what tomorrow could bring sits like something heavy on her conscience.

"Jace," she says, dropping his hand and turning to face him, "there's something I should tell you."

His fingers, warm and calloused, touch her face and then slide back into her loose hair. His eyes seem to catch what little light there is in the corridor. They flicker like candle flames. "Tell me after tomorrow," he says and then kisses her until there is nothing more important than kissing him back.

Clary rises up onto her toes, arms looping around his neck. She feels solid wood at her back when the weight of Jace's body pins her against the door, and yet this isn't close enough. Her fingers slip beneath the collar of his shirt. She finds the faded rune scar at the top of his spine.

There's a sound like a door opening, and Jace moves away quickly, stepping back until two feet of darkness separate them. Clary leans breathlessly back against the door. They wait, watching and listening, until a small gray form emerges noiselessly from the shadows.

Jace swears. Clary breathes a sigh of relief. "Church."

Jace looks at the cat with contempt. "He tried to out us, you know. Last week when Alec was looking for you, the little beast brought him to my room."

"I'm sure he just thought he was being helpful," Clary says, crouching down to scratch the top of Church's head. The cat rolls onto his side encouragingly, and she rubs his exposed belly.

"Helpful?" Jace scoffs. "He's manipulative. And fat."

Church yowls quietly and then purrs as Clary continues her ministrations.

"And entirely too pleased with himself."

"Jealous?"

"Hardly." Gently taking hold of her upper-arms, Jace draws her back onto her feet. "I'm the one who gets to see you without any clothes on."

"Shhh," she hushes him—pointlessly, because they're alone. "Be quiet."

Jace grins a devilish smile and draws her body in against his. "Or what?"

"Or Church will get your place on my bed tonight."

"He can have it." His lips brush against hers as he speaks. "Because you'll be on mine."

Without any more ceremony, Jace draws her over to his own door. As she follows him inside, she thinks she hears something move in the dark. But she looks back, and there is only Church, sitting and watching them with his yellow eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note Of Actual Importance:<strong> Just to give you guys an idea of where we're at, I'm estimating that there are about three chapters left of this story. Could be one more or one less, but right now three is my best guess based on what still needs to be covered (including the showdown next chapter!). I'm working on a couple more outtakes, and I'll give out the new password to them in my review responses to this chapter. REMEMBER: as much as I love all of the reviews I get, I cannot respond to anonymous reviews or to people who have their private messaging disabled (So, unfortunately, I won't be able to give you the password.)

Also, I have another TMI oneshot that I've recently written, and I need someone to look it over, make edits, and give general feedback. So if you're interested, please let me know. Just so you're aware, it's kind of a long oneshot, and it's a rare pairing. But I really need a beta! So don't be shy! lol.


	10. Part Ten

I know, this chapter has taken forever, and I'm sorry about that. But I am very, very grateful to **amaggiepie** for doing beta work on this chapter even though she was dealing with so many other real life things that demanded her attention. You are a beta queen, my dear.**  
><strong>

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART TEN**

The Shadowhunters have all gathered on the steps of the Institute. The adults stand together in a loose semi-circle except for Alec, who lingers closer to where Jace is perched on the stone banister. Isabelle and Simon are off in the grass, the former aloof and the latter awkwardly attempting to initiate some sort of conversation.

Jace takes it all in with a forced sense of calm. Physically he's here, but his thoughts are with Clary, who left for the hospital an hour ago. The plan is for her to visit Jocelyn before heading to the stipulated meeting place, where the warlock said he would be waiting. It was Clary's suggestion that she go ahead of everyone else.

"In case he has someone trail me," she said to the hunters gathered in the war room that first day of planning. "If he finds out too soon that I broke the Promise, he might not show up at all."

And no one could argue with that.

So an hour ago, Jace had to watch her leave equipped in full Shadowhunter gear that didn't quite conceal all of the combat runes scrawled across her skin. It was difficult sending her off alone, but he knows that come nightfall he will be on that rooftop with her. He and Luke will be concealed there, while the other Shadowhunters and Luke's pack station themselves in the adjacent buildings. Clary will only be facing Sebastian alone until the Book of the White is in plain sight.

Now they're just waiting for Clary to call when she leaves the hospital.

"You're not nervous."

Jace glances over at Alec. He's been behaving oddly all day—quiet and distant—but Jace wrote it off as anxiety over the upcoming battle. "Should I be? Sebastian is going to be completely outmatched, even if he does have the Sword sliver and the warlock. All of the demons and magic in the world couldn't stop me from finishing the job I started that night in Idris. This time I'll make sure the blade goes _all_ the way through his chest."

Alec steps closer and speaks with a lowered voice. "You're not worried about Clary?"

Jace is _always_ worried about Clary. It's an anxiety that's become too familiar and one he's accepted on his own terms. "I won't let anything happen to her."

Alec's mouth opens and then closes. His brow furrows in a somber expression of contemplation. "You really love her, don't you?"

There's something in the way he says it that has Jace looking closely at his _parabatai_. "Of course I do. Don't you love Isabelle?"

"Yeah, I do." He looks like he wants to say more.

Jace hops off the banister, landing lightly on his feet. "Look, you can't let yourself worry about Clary. You have to concentrate on the fight or you'll end up dead, and what good is it having a dead _parabatai_? Luke and I will be there if anything goes wrong. Just remember—"

"Do you think that part of loving someone is knowing when to let them go?"

Jace startles. "What?"

But Alec's not looking at him anymore. His gaze goes past Jace to where the sun is sinking in the sky. Long shadows cast by neighboring buildings stretch their way across the street. They're caught in one of them. "Or do you think loving someone means never letting go no matter what happens?"

Something tightens like a vice inside Jace's chest.

His pocket buzzes. He pulls out his phone and reads the text message from Clary: _I'm leaving the hospital. See you soon._

When he looks up, Maryse is watching him. He nods and she tells everyone to move out.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The door closes behind Clary with a heavy lurch, and she waits, listening to the sound echo in the silence of the sanctuary. The candles continue flickering and the elevator remains dormant and still. There are no footsteps.

She is alone.

Clary sags in relief even as her heart quickens in her chest. _This is what I wanted_, she reminds herself. The Institute is empty. All of the Shadowhunters have left to meet at the abandoned building by the water—the place where they will expect to find her. The place where she will not be.

She pushes aside the guilt that has been eating at her for the last week. Lying to Jace—to everyone—hasn't been easy. But she can't afford to be distracted now—apologies and explanations can come later. Right now she cannot be anywhere but _here_.

Straightening, Clary slides the seraph blade from her belt and grips it tightly at her side. She begins moving forward down the aisle, eyes sweeping over the empty pews and the shadows formed by the gothic pillars. She is halfway to the raised dais when he appears out of one of the alcoves behind the pulpit and descends the steps to the floor.

Sebastian looks almost exactly as she remembers him. Dark, inky hair, black eyes set in a cold, angular face, and a tall, lithe figure emphasized by his fitted Shadowhunter gear. He does not smile. There is none of the charm he exuded so expertly during his stay at the Penhallows' home. When Clary first met him there, she had thought he was beautiful. And he would be, she supposes, if there weren't something so off-putting about the harsh lines of his features and the frostiness of his gaze.

He stops several feet from where she's standing and looks her over in a calculating appraisal.

"You're finally starting to look like a Shadowhunter."

"I kept my end of the bargain." With her free hand she holds out the Warlock Promise. "I'm here alone. That means he has to hold up his part of the deal."

"Don't worry. The Warlock has the book, and he's exactly where he said he would be. I'm sure your friends, even as incompetent and useless as they are, can handle retrieving it." Now, Sebastian does smile, his lips twisting in a self-satisfied sneer. "If they get past the demons alive."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"Where is she?" Jace mutters, surveying the empty roof below. He and Luke have been standing in one of the vampires' makeshift observation rooms for almost an hour. Already he's had to redraw the rune on the window that's keeping them concealed. Clary should have been there by now.

After punching a few buttons, Luke pockets his phone. "She's still not answering."

"Something's happened to her."

"You don't know that. We stick with the plan unless Maryse signals otherwise."

From here, Jace cannot see the other Shadowhunters and Luke's pack, but he knows that they are concealed in the buildings to the north and south, armed and waiting. The standing order is to remain hidden until Sebastian makes a threatening advance. Clary needs a chance to get information from him, like the location of the shard and the Book of the White.

But Clary isn't here.

"I don't care what Maryse thinks." Jace shakes his head. "This isn't right. If Clary got held up, she would have called."

Luke catches Jace's arm as he turns to leave. "The Warlock Promise. There's still time for Clary to show. And until she doesn't, they can't go back on the deal."

"Unless they know she's not coming alone, which—" A shadow of movement through the window beyond Luke's shoulder captures Jace's attention.

Out on the center of the roof, there is a wide metal hatch that leads to the level below—the holding cell where a vampire is kept until the time of his execution. When dawn comes, the hatch is opened, and vampire is elevated in chains to await the coming daylight. The vampires who have condemned him to death watch from the safety of this observation deck. Jace has always found this method of execution to be somewhat dramatic and morbid even by vampire standards. But now, as he watches a narrow crack of light appear down the middle of the hatch, he feels his own anticipation heighten. As the two grated doors separate, slowly sliding open with a mechanical whirring of noise, his heart speeds with the call for death.

Luke releases Jace. "Remember, we wait until the others move in."

But he doesn't have anything to worry about. Jace is rooted to the spot. His eyes don't leave the hatch, which now stands completely open. Something—_someone_—begins to rise up into the night. He watches, chest tight with a rekindled ferocity, as Sebastian appears inch-by-inch, rising like a victorious warrior on the very platform meant to bring others to their death.

Jace didn't want to believe that Sebastian had survived that night in Idris. Even after a week of preparation for this moment, he finds it difficult to stomach the sight of the man who killed Max and nearly destroyed everything else Jace loves. The fact that he's returned,come for _Clary,_ is like a nightmare dredged up from the darkest parts of his subconscious.

Staring down at the expectant look on Sebastian's face, Jace knows that Sebastian will not leave this roof alive. One of them is going to die here, and Jace still needs to find Clary.

Sebastian steps off the platform. He's wearing dark clothes but not Shadowhunter gear, just blue jeans and a black jacket. On the streets he would have passed as a mundane if it weren't for the Marks curving up the side of his neck and across the backs of his hands.

Sebastian's eyes sweep over the empty rooftop and the elevated observation deck where Luke and Jace are hiding. He doesn't see them. "If we wait for Clary to get this party started, we're going to be standing here all night. And I've got other plans. Of the pillaging and murdering variety."

Jace looks to Luke, but the werewolf's gaze remains on Sebastian and the shadows of the surrounding buildings.

"And I suspect you're wanting this." Sebastian pulls a small book from the inside of his jacket and raises it up for anyone to see.

The Book of the White. Jace is sure of it.

When Sebastian doesn't get a response he shrugs and starts toward the brick foundation of the observation deck. Jace tries to peer down through the window but he can't make him out from this angle.

"What's he doing?"

Luke frowns. "I don't know."

After a long, tense silence, Sebastian steps back into view. A bright light flashes below.

"What the—"

Demons, dozens of them, come pouring out across the rooftop. Sebastian has opened a portal. Jace suddenly feels like he's back in Idris, arriving at the cave just in time to watch Sebastian hack open the gateway to hundreds of demons ready to bloody the fields outside Alicante.

Shadowhunters and werewolves begin leaping over from the adjacent roofs, weapons and teeth bared. There's the first wet sound of a blade breaking flesh.

Jace draws his seraph blade and it ignites like a lick of flame. "I don't know about you, but that looks an awful lot like a signal to me."

Luke's hands have already turned into formidable claws, and the rest of his body slowly begins turning over to the wolf—fur appearing along his arms and eyes sharpening with something nearly feral. "Fair enough."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The night's chill began to creep into the sanctuary. At the ends of the pews, the candle flames seem to shrink and shiver. Clary glares back at Sebastian. "They know you have the shard."

"Do they? Took them long enough. The Clave's foolish bureaucracy has always been one of its downfalls."

"They're prepared for whatever you have waiting."

Sebastian shrugs. "Killing them was hardly the point."

"Then what _is_ the point? To any of this?" Clary gestures widely with the Promise still in her fist. "What are you doing in New York and what do you want from _me_?"

The distance between them evaporates as Sebastian steps forward, moving with undisguised grace until he is only inches from her. Clary holds her ground and suppresses the instinct to raise her blade.

"New York itself is inconsequential. I needed somewhere to test the strength of the shard before using it on a grander scale. I couldn't be certain one piece would possess the same qualities as the whole. And it doesn't. My power over the demons has its limitations. But if I focus on only a few…" Sebastian shrugs. "Like the daemon I sent in that stone vessel. It followed my orders explicitly. Except, of course, that it was meant for you and not the Lightwood boy."

"Me?"

He leans in to whisper by her ear. "You think I don't know where you sleep at night?"

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The roof is so small that everyone is practically fighting on top of one another. More than once Jace has narrowly avoids being taken out by a wolf or another hunter sent careening into him from the back or the side. The demons aren't careful. They don't mind if some of their own get caught in the crossfire. But every time one is taken out, it seems two more move in to take its place.

If the circumstances were different, Jace might be enjoying himself. He hasn't had to exert himself like this in months, and the liberation of battle isn't something that can be simulated. He plunges his dagger into the neck of a Kuri demon and spears it through with a seraph blade before whipping around to fend off a couple of Scorprios demons that have cornered Patrick Penhallow. Avoiding the barbed tail of one, he slips in front of the other.

Jace smirks up at the inhumanly wrinkled face that scowls back at him. He doesn't even have the chance to offer a baiting comment before the demon swings a powerful, lumbering arm. There's just enough time for Jace to bring up his blade to block the blow, but he still staggers back from the impact as the demon cries out in pain. Moving quickly, Jace springs forward and swings his sword around in an upward arc that bisects the creature's torso. It shrieks and begins folding in on itself, disappearing back to its home dimension.

Jace catches Patrick's brief nod of thanks. He feels _strong_.

Something wet splashes against the back of Jace's neck, and there's the burn of demon _ichor_ on his skin. He whips around to find a humanoid demon staggering towards him, two arrows lodged in its back. Ichor drips from its open mouth. Grimacing from the pain of his scalding neck, Jace spins his blade and finishes the foul creature off easily enough. A moment later Alec is at his side, bow in hand. He seems unharmed save for a rip along his sleeve stained with blood.

Alec keeps a watchful eye on the fighting around them. "We're winning, and he's not bringing in reinforcements,"

Jace hasn't caught sight of Sebastian since the battle began. But the portal hasn't been reopened. "No, he's not."

"Clary."

"I know." Jace glances away from Alec's concerned face. "We need to find Sebastian."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Clary jerks away, but Sebastian's taunting eyes are still too close, boring into her like a brand that makes her skin burn. She wants to say something but her mouth won't open, won't form the denial she hadn't been able to give Maia either. She can't breathe. It's that paralyzing feeling of being caught and tried all at once.

"I've been watching, and it's obvious." He raises a hand and tucks a loose lock of hair back behind her ear. "The way he looks at you like you're his, and the way you blush when he so much as touches you." He drops his hand and makes a disgusted sound. "It's like you want him to fuck you right there in front of everyone. The two of you are sick. Anyone who doesn't see it is an idiot, or maybe they're just fooling themselves."

Finally, Clary finds her voice, even though it trembles when she says, "You don't know anything about me and Jace."

"I know that hiding his perverted feelings for you must be destroying him." The thought seems to please Sebastian, as he presses forward, forcing Clary another step back. "And now having to watch his own _parabatai_ fall all over you while he does _nothing_. It's almost better than what I'd planned."

Clary has gone white. "This is about Jace. You want to hurt him."

Sebastian's smile vanishes. "Hurt him?" he echoes with a snarl. "I want to make him suffer the loss of everything he's ever loved. I want him hurting until he's _begging_ me to end his miserable life. He ruined everything. He killed my father—"

"_Your_ father?" Clary's eyes narrow. "Valentine was _Jace_'s father. And mine. And he didn't kill—"

"He loved me more." The words are bit out and as cold as ice. In that moment Sebastian is as opaque as he has ever allowed himself to be. Resentment. Hatred. Hurt. Betrayal. Vengeance. They're all there in his face, as clear as distinct colors of paint running together on a canvas without being mixed. Some are bright, vivid shades and some are muted and easily overtaken by the others. Together they form a bleeding picture that leaves Clary nauseous.

This is worse. This is much worse than she had ever thought.

"Jace was nothing but a failed attempt," Sebastian continues viciously. "He never deserved to be a Morgenstern."

"So this has just been a game for you, and now it's over, and you want to kill me." She's shaking, but it's not with fear; it's anger. He's been hiding in the shadows manipulating them this entire time as if they're nothing but _toys_, and now he's decided that he's bored so it's time to call it quits. No remorse. No humanity. "You're nothing but a desperate coward, Sebastian."

The look Sebastian fixes her with is lethal, and she catches his fingers twitching for something on his belt. "I don't think you understand. Destroying Jace is just a privilege. The real work is finishing what Valentine began. Nephilim have become weak….Together you and I will create a new race of Shadowhunters.

"What do you need me for? Do you actually think I would help you do anything?"

"You're a Morgenstern. One of the last. And the angel blood has made you even stronger. That birthright must be preserved along with the Morgenstern line. It's not your consent I need. Just your body. For as long as it takes."

A chill—a fission of realization—shoots down Clary's spine. "You mean…"

"The merging of your blood with mine will surpass all divisions of heaven and hell. We'll create a brand of hunter unrivaled in this world."

Clary draws her shoulders back and shakes her head. "That's…"

"Necessary."

"Sick," she finishes. "I would die first."

Sebastian looks at her knowingly. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy our time together."

He reaches out as if to touch her again, but Clary knocks his hand away. Unwillingly, she remembers the kiss they shared standing in the ashes of her ancestors' home. She had been so desperate to rub Jace from her mind, and Sebastian had been so deceptively charming. But even then, kissing him felt like a mistake, like a trap she'd been tricked into. Nothing had ever felt more wrong.

"Go to hell," she bites out,finally raising her seraph blade between them.

Sebastian smiles at the gesture as if she's just done something endearing. "That's right. You'd rather lie on your back for your own brother. If it's the incest that gets going, then maybe if you knew the truth—"

"Shut up and fight me."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

It takes five minutes for Jace and Alec to battle their way to the edge of the roof and climb up onto high ledge. From here, it's easy to judge the tide of the fight. Originally outnumbered, the Shadowhunters and werewolves have now more than evened out the odds. They are slowly but steadily gaining the upper hand.

Jace's attention lingers on Isabelle, who is crouched defensively over the prone body of someone he can't quite make out. But she doesn't seem to have any difficulty warding off the Raum demon that advances on them, and soon Simon appears at her side. When the Raum lashes out at him, it explodes in a cloud of _ichor_.

Jace continues looking for Sebastian.

"There." Alec points toward the observation deck. Sebastian stands in front of the wall where the portal was opened, surrounded by a semicircle of demons offering him protection from the fray of the fight. He observes the violence around him with a pleased smirk and doesn't give any indication he intends to join the battle.

Jace grits his teeth. "If I get over there, can you draw the demons out?"

Alec nods and briefly claps Jace on the shoulder before jumping back down and moving in Sebastian's direction. Without any further hesitation, Jace takes off along the edge of the roof, circling around to the side closest to the observation deck. There's a narrow ledge that runs beneath the row of tinted windows and that's what Jace aims for as he launches himself in the air, jumping over the heads of two werewolves and clearing them by several feet. He smacks painfully into the windows, but his feet find purchase on the ledge and his fingers dig into the crude gap between brick and glass.

Jace looks over his shoulder and sees that Alec and several other hunters have engaged the demons surrounding the observation deck, leaving Sebastian undefended. Blade drawn, Jace drops backward off the ledge, landing on the ground in a crouch just a few feet from where Sebastian is standing.

Black eyes regard him coolly from beneath a fringe of dark hair. "Jace Morgenstern."

Rising to his full height, Jace stares back. "I would return the favor of needlessly stating your name, but there's a nasty rumor going around that you're not really Sebastian Verlac."

"Who else would I be?"

Jace shakes his head. "I don't know. And, honestly, I don't care. Because at the end of the day, you're still going to be dead."

Sebastian's gaze flickers to where the demons are locked in combat and then returns to Jace. "I knew your sister would keep up her end of the deal. There's something so sincere about her—all she wants is to save your dear mother."

Jace's jaw clenches. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing. A bargain's a bargain. But I can't speak for the person I left her with. He's a very unstable guy."

Growling, Jace lunges forward, seraph blade raised. But instead of drawing a weapon of his own, Sebastian merely lifts a hand, a bright green light flaring in the middle of his palm. Before he can understand what's happening, Jace is lying on his back several yards away. His entire body aches—from his head to his feet. It's as if he's been struck by truck gunning at full speed.

Sebastian smirks down at him. Green electricity sparks around his right fist. "I wouldn't try that—ah!"

Sebastian goes rigid, his body arching backward at an awkward angle as the tip of a blade drives through his sternum. Alec stands at his back, one hand gripping Sebastian's shoulder as he sinks the sword deeper. "That," he says, "was for my brother." He withdraws the blade, and Sebastian crumples face-down onto the ground.

Jace scrambles to his feet, still shaking from the impact of the magic. He watches with growing dread as Sebastian's body begins to change, shrinking so that the clothes become baggy on the slighter frame. Black hair lengthens and turns a bright shade of orange. Two red horns curl from the top of his head.

Crouching down, Jace rolls the body over to find the face of a woman looking up at him with amused eyes.

"Surprise." She grins, revealing straight, white teeth lined with her own blood. A wet cough makes her body shudder. The front of her shirt is beginning to soak through with red.

"But…" Alec gaps at the warlock, incredulous. "She's…"

Hands fisted in the material of the warlock's shirt, Jace shakes her. "Where are they? Where did she meet him?"

"Where do you think?" She chuckles and lets her head roll back against the roof. "What do you think you're all doing here in the first place? When the cat's away…"

Jace and Alec's eyes meet. _The Institute._

Alec turns and takes off.

Jace almost can't stop himself from following. He forces himself to stay where he is and tighten his hold on the warlock's shirt. "The Book of the White. Give it to me. Like you bargained you would."

Another bloody smile slips her face. "The thing is,"—she grimaces—"I promised to show up here tonight with the book. And I did. And I promised to wake up your mother." She raises a trembling hand. "But I never said when."

With a snap of her fingers, the warlock is gone. Jace slams his fist into the concrete of the roof and barely registers the pain that shoots up his arm.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The air is knocked from Clary's lungs as she's sent flying back into a pew. Something cracks, and she wonders whether it was one of her bones. She slumps forward but still manages to twist out of Sebastian's reach when he makes a grab for her arm. He hasn't drawn a weapon, but easily evades her attacks and occasionally makes an offensive move meant to stun.

He's mocking her. She's outmatched, and he knows it; they both do. This is a game, and she's losing.

Sebastian's left hand—the one Isabelle stole with her whip—has been replaced with a metal prosthetic. Clary thinks it must be enchanted because the fingers seem to move as readily as if it were real. She strikes with her seraph blade, and he catches it in his palm. The clang of metal against metal reverberates through the sanctuary. His grip on the blade tightens like a vice, and then he yanks the sword from her hands with bruising force.

Clary dives to reclaim the weapon, but Sebastian tosses it halfway down the aisle where it clatters noisily on the stone floor. He lifts an eyebrow at her as she slowly backs away. "You might look like a Shadowhunter, but you're still as weak and untrained as any Mundane. What a waste."

"Yeah?" Once there is a good fifteen feet of space separating them, Clary stops and reaches into the pouch secured to her belt. "I don't know many Mundanes who could do this." The three throwing stars in her hand each bear the same inscription: Sebastian's name along with the rune for 'send,' a perversion of the method for using fire messages. When Clary releases the blades with an unpracticed toss of her hand, they cut cleanly and swiftly through the air, moving as if guided by an invisible force. They all strike their target. One lodges in Sebastian's arm, and the other two land in the right side of his chest.

None of them are mortal wounds, but Sebastian staggers back, shocked for the first time that night. Clary doesn't waste the opportunity. She sprints forward, a second seraph blade glowing in her hand as she calls its name. The first strike he manages to avoid, but his injuries make him vulnerable to the second.

The tip of the sword catches the side of his neck just beneath his ear and cuts a shallow gash all the way to the collar of his gear. The sight of his blood startles Clary, and she's momentarily distracted by her own success. Sebastian's expression is black with fury.

He draws a sword with his uninjured arm and parries her next several blows, forcing her to go on the defensive and move backward up the steps of the dais. Temporarily she has the high ground, but the advantage doesn't last as Sebastian quickly follows her retreat.

He isn't holding back now. His blows are swift and powerful and cause Clary's arm to tremble and ache. Clary's back hits the altar table. With and expert flourish of his sword, Sebastian disarms her, and there is nothing but a precious inch of air between the tip of his blade and her throat. "That was foolish of you, Clarissa," he growls. "You know, I don't have to be careful with you."

"You don't frighten me."

His eyes narrow. Then he lowers his blade. "Not yet."

Clary watches warily as he replaces the sword in its scabbard and then begins to pull the shuriken from his body one at a time. They fall heavy and bloody to the ground. While he's distracted Clary let's her gaze roam over his clothing, searching until she catches a glint of silver on his belt.

Without warning, Sebastian steps forward and backhands her across the face. The blow whips her head around, and Clary tastes blood in her mouth. His metal hand grips her throbbing jaw and forces her face back to his. He leans in until they're nose-to-nose. "You _should_ be frightened. Everyone should be, but especially you." The fingertips dig painfully into her skin. "Because tonight is just the beginning."

Before Clary even has a chance to respond, Sebastian steps back to strike her again. This time her entire body is knocked sideways, and she blindly steps on one of the fallen shuriken. Already off balance, she slips and strikes her head on the ledge of the altar as she falls to her knees. Black spots ripple across her vision.

Clary is only partially aware of Sebastian yanking her off the floor and twisting one of her arms behind her back. It's not until she feels the cool surface of the altar against her cheek that she becomes aware of the blood dripping down into the corner of her eye and the heat of Sebastian's breath on the back of her neck.

"How do you think I should make him pay?" he mutters near her ear. "A hand for a hand?" His metal claw closes around Clary's left wrist, pinning it to the table and squeezing until she thinks it might snap. She cries out as skin and bone bruise. "You won't need that for my purposes."

Nausea grips her as he crudely presses his hips against her. "Bastard," she hisses.

"But, no," Sebastian continues, ignoring her, "that really wasn't his doing." He releases the arm he has pressed to the table. There's the sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath. Clary redoubles her efforts to struggle against his hold. While blindly clawing at him with one hand, she fights to free the other. But her movements feel sluggish, and he's immovable.

"I think," Sebastian says, "he would appreciate the poetry of this much more."

Pain. Pain like fire and ice rips through her back, and the last thing Clary hears is the sound of her scream echoing in the candlelight.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Again, my apologies for the long wait between chapters. But if it had come much sooner, it would have been shitty quality, so I think it was worth the extra time. The good news is I've already started working on the next chapter, so the wait for part eleven should be shorter. We're getting close to the end here!

Just a reminder...**I CANNOT RESPOND TO REVIEWS IF YOU HAVE PRIVATE MESSAGING DISABLED**. A couple people have asked me questions in signed reviews, but I can't respond for this reason. So please, check your FFnet account settings. I swear I'm not just ignoring you.


	11. Part Eleven

Lots of hugs and kisses go out to **amaggiepie** and **sunshiiine23** for being beta masters. I wish I could show my readers what the chapters look like before you guys get your hands on them. You do A LOT of work. lol.

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels and City of Lost Souls entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART ELEVEN**

Jace cannot feel his legs. He cannot feel his hands or taste the cold air as it fills his lungs before being forced out. He is not aware of the cement under his feet and only notices the people on the sidewalk long enough to shove them out of his way. This is the first time he has ever run for his life.

When he reaches the Institute one of the front doors stands open, swung out into the night like the gaping jaw of a corpse. There is a moment when Jace thinks he might get sick as he takes the steps two at a time. Some part of him had hoped he was wrong.

All of the candles and witchlights have been extinguished, save for one at the far end of the sanctuary…

Alec nearly runs over him in the doorway. He skids to a stop, and Jace feels his heavy breaths on the back of his neck as he takes in their surroundings for the first time. He says something, but Jace doesn't hear it. All he sees is that one light casting a dull glow over a long plait of red hair.

"No."

The word falls from his lips like a gunshot. He takes off down the aisle, quickly closing the distance to the altar, where an unmistakable figure lay across the table. In the few seconds it takes to reach her side, his heart seems to stop, restarting only when he touches her back—just beneath the dagger impaled in her flesh.

"No. No. No." The quiet hymn grows more pained of the longer he looks at her—_his_ Clary—lying only halfway across the table with the toes of her boots barely touching the floor. There's a knife in her back and another pinning one of her hands to the smooth surface above her head.

She isn't moving.

"Oh, God. Clary. Baby, don't—" Jace moves to brush the hair from her face, but Alec is already there. Removing one of his gloves, he presses two bare fingers to her neck, his face white with suppressed panic. Jace watches him, waiting, but wanting to push him aside so that he can check for himself. "Alec—"

"She's alive," he says quietly to himself. He looks up at Jace. "She's alive."

There's no relief. Jace doesn't feel any less terrified. When Alec removes the dagger from her hand, he feels sick all over again. He stares, paralyzed, as his _parabatai_ traces an _iratze_ beside the gaping wound. Following his example, Jace swallows and reaches for the handle of the blade in her back. He recognizes it, remembers plunging it into Sebastian's back before watching him fall face-first into the river.

"Don't touch it," Alec snaps. "It could be,"—he swallows—"holding something together."

"No." Jace shakes his head. The blade is perfectly placed or, rather, perfectly _mis_placed.

"_He taught me there's a place on a man's back where, if you sink a blade in, you can pierce his heart and sever his spine, all at once."_

Two centimeters down and to the left, and the blow would have been fatal. Instead of bone and organ, the dagger severed muscle and flesh. It would be a mistake to think that Sebastian had missed.

Jace's hand closes around the hilt. "It won't kill her."

"But the blood loss might." Alec has reached beneath her head to the side of her face resting against the table. When he withdraws his fingers, they come away stained red. Not stopping to wipe off the blood, he takes his stele and sketches an _iratze_ on her bared neck.

Jace catches Alec's eye. "Can you…"

He nods. Taking the knife that he pulled from Clary's palm, Alec cuts open the back of her gear, carefully maneuvering around the lodged blade. Once an area of smooth, unmarred skin is exposed, Jace withdraws the dagger as smoothly as he can. As soon as the tip is free, Alec hurries to draw yet another _iratze_, this one across the top of her spine.

Jace takes a step back out of his way. The dagger feels hot in his hand. He cannot look away from the blade and the blood dripping from its edge onto the floor. _Clary's blood._ It's wrong. It shouldn't be there. It's meant to be inside of her. Maybe if it was, she would be moving and not lying there so pale, and cold, and still.

For the first time, Jace takes a proper look at her face. In the dim light, it's hard to detect anything amiss. She could almost be sleeping. Only more careful scrutiny reveals the bruise forming on her cheek, the split in her lip, the blood beginning to dry in her hairline, and the shadows beneath her eyes marking the deathly pallor of her skin.

_She's alive_, Jace tells himself.

"We should get her to the infirmary." Alec uses one hand to press a folded cloth to the wound on her back and other to check her pulse again. He hasn't stopped moving. "Can you get the elevator?"

Jace steps forward. "I'll take her."

He looks at him, his expression doubtful. "Are you sure? I can—"

"I'll take her."

Alec hesitates but nods and moves back. Jace goes to pick Clary up but then realizes he's still holding the dagger. He can't bring himself to toss it aside. A part of him is afraid that if he lets it out of his sight, it will somehow return and bring Sebastian with it. He slips it into one of the empty sheaths on his belt.

As he gingerly turns Clary and lifts her into his arms, her hand—the one that was tucked between her body and the alter—falls open, and something small clatters onto the floor. Alec crouches to retrieve it and then holds it up in the light

A sliver of metal no more than three inches long.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

Isabelle is cold and tired. She smells like sweat dried with blood, and all she wants is a hot shower before falling into bed. But as she approaches the infirmary and sees her brothers loitering in the hall, she knows sleep is a long way off.

Jace leans against the wall opposite the barred infirmary, while Alec shuffles restlessly across the width of the hallway, alternatively casting glances at Jace and the closed door. Isabelle knows Clary is on the other side and that Brother Zachariah is with her. He came to the Institute as soon it was learned that the missing shard of the Mortal Sword had been recovered. After confirming that the sliver was in fact the entire missing piece, Brother Zachariah agreed to see to Clary's wounds, which Isabelle has only heard described as "extensive." With Magnus gone, a Silent Brother is the closest thing to a trained healer they could hope for on short notice.

Neither boy seems to notice her arrival. Instinct draws Isabelle to Jace first—when Clary is involved, Isabelle always thinks of him before anyone else. But then Alec turns and regards her with bright, worried eyes, and she checks herself.

Right. He's still in love with her.

Isabelle rests a hand on her brother's arm. "How's she holding up?"

Alec shakes his head. He's as pale as bleached runestone. "We don't know. She was unconscious when we found her, and she hasn't woken up. There was a lot of internal damage and bleeding." Subconsciously he rubs his red-stained hands against the sides of his pants. "But Brother Zachariah seemed to think that she would live."

"Why didn't Sebastian just kill her?" Isabelle winces as soon as the words leave her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye she catches Jace's flinch.

"I don't know." Alec looks back at the door. "Hopefully she'll be able to tell us."

"If I were her, I wouldn't be in any hurry to wake up," Isabelle murmurs, suddenly feeling twice as exhausted.

Alec shoots her a piercing look. Isabelle shrugs. "They're all pretty upset downstairs."

"Overwhelmed with concern for her welfare, I'm sure," Jace mutters, still watching the door. Isabelle's glad to hear him speak at all.

"She lied to the Clave."

"She got the shard, didn't she? And that's what we were after."

"Yes. But she put everyone's lives at risk. Including ours." Isabelle knows she should drop it, because she's not really upset with Clary. Not because of the night's events anyway. Isabelle and everyone else on that rooftop were prepared for a battle, and that's exactly what they got.

Alec frowns. Isabelle thinks the sympathy in his eyes might be aimed at her. "She thought it was the only way to help her mother."

Isabelle steps away from him. "She's lucky she's just 16. If she were a couple years older, they would probably put her on trial."

"Thank you, Isabelle, for the heartfelt sentiments," Jace drawls tonelessly. "You've proved invaluable at lifting our spirits. You should go and continue to spread good cheer elsewhere."

Isabelle sighs and raises her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright. Fine. I'll be in my room. Just tell me if things take a turn for the worse, okay?"

"If it turns out she hired the warlock herself as well, you'll be the first to know."

"Fuck you, Jace." Isabelle brushes past them both and heads to her room before the urge to hit someone proves too strong.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"You shouldn't take it out on her. She cares about Clary, too."

There's no real rebuke in Alec's voice. He's just as glad that Isabelle's gone. Neither of them is in the mood to bicker, even if a confrontation would have made Isabelle feel better—would have helped her ignore her fear.

"I'll apologize later."

Alec's hands are discolored with Clary's blood. The smears of red are so dark they look black across his knuckles. The dagger hanging from Jace's belt is just as saturated. As is the altar in the sanctuary. Jace wonders how long it will take for her body to replenish such a staggering amount of blood.

"I need to ask you about something." Alec stops pacing. He leans against the wall opposite Jace, his stained hands flexing at his sides. He looks tired but determined. There is something significant about the space he's put between them.

Jace's throat is dry. It hurts to speak. "Do we have to talk about it now?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Alec's gaze pins him to the wall. "Were you ever going to tell anyone about you and Clary?"

Jace bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. It's the only thing he feels aside from the burning sensation in his chest as he holds his breath. There's no bluff in Alec's eyes. "You know."

Alec nods.

Jace considers him more closely, wondering what could have given them away. Not Maia. If she were to tell anyone it would be Luke, and he still doesn't suspect anything. Which can only mean one thing.

"You saw us. You were in the hall outside our rooms the other night."

"I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything. I was just taking a walk because I was having trouble sleeping—"

"Please." Jace raises a hand. "Don't apologize for realizing that I'm sleeping with my sister."

The words seem to burn Alec. He looks away quickly, jaw and hands clenched.

"Do you hate me?" Jace asks quietly. He's always told himself that it doesn't matter, that as long as he has Clary, the loathing and disgust of everyone else he cares about would be worth it. She means more to him than anything else in the world. And yet, the thought of Alec, his _parabatai_, shunning him for any reason leaves Jace feeling as if someone has reached inside and hallowed him out.

"I want to hate you. I _should_ hate you. You're risking _everything_, and I…I know Clary isn't mine, but I still want her to have the life she deserves." Alec shakes his head and manages to lift his gaze to meet Jace's once more. The despair in his eyes is as opaque as the blood on his hands. "And what about you? Is this what you want? To live like this? Hiding?"

Jace swallows. "We'll be more careful…"

"You can't keep it a secret forever, and when people find out, you'll have to run. And you'll have to keep running. The Clave will strip you and Clary of your Marks if they get their hands on you. Then you'll lose _everything_." Alec steps forward. He grasps Jace's shoulder. "I wouldn't even be allowed to speak to you."

Head bowed, Jace closes his eyes and allows the strength of their bond wash over him. The _parabatai _connection is not amplified by touch, but by powerful emotion. Jace feel's the weight of Alec's anxiety mixing with his own hopelessness, and it would be overwhelming if it weren't for the fact that they are at their strongest like this—together. He has never been more aware of the binding rune warming his skin beneath Alec's hand.

Jace grips Alec's shoulder in turn. "I want you to swear something."

"What?"

"I want you to swear that if anything were to happen to me, if for some reason I can't be here, you'll watch out for her. Swear that you'll keep her safe"—his grip tightens—"and try…try to make sure she's happy."

"Jace…"

"That's what I want more than anything. For her to be happy. I've wanted other things, but nothing half so much as I want that." He holds Alec's gaze. "You understand that."

Silence stretches between them until finally Alec's shoulders sag. "Fine. I swear. But that doesn't mean you have permission to do something stupid."

"When have I ever needed permission?"

Alec doesn't smile.

The door to the infirmary opens to reveal Brother Zachariah's towering, robed form. Jace moves to approach him, questions about Clary's condition forming on his lips. But Alec's grip keep him in place. "You have to swear the same," he says. "You have to swear to make her happy." He drops his hand. "And to be happy."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The first thing Clary becomes aware of is the numbness. She can't feel her body from the chest down. If she concentrates, she can get her fingers to bend. There is a pillow beneath her head and there is darkness.

A voice, faint like the final strains of a dying song, lingers about her consciousness, circling but never drawing nearer. She finds its persistence comforting, soothing, and soon she drifts away until there is only the memory of it.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

"Jace."

He's sitting on the edge of her bed, a gold and black sentinal amidst the whiteness of the infirmary. She's lying on her stomach, and she can feel his body heat through the thin blanket that covers her. She can also feel the dull throbs of pain in her head and in her back.

His fingers lace through hers. "Hey."

She tries to respond but her mouth is dry, and all she manages is an incoherent noise muffled by the pillow beneath her cheek.

Jace takes the glass of water from the bedside table and holds it out in offering. Her arms shake as she uses them to prop herself up.

"Careful," he murmurs and tips the cup to her lips. She drinks eagerly.

As soon as the water is gone and the glass withdrawn, Clary collapses back onto the bed, wincing at the discomfort it causes. The pain in her back makes her eyes sting with tears. She forces them away when she meets Jace's troubled gaze.

"Hey." Her voice is rough and weak, but it works. For some reason, the single word earns a small smile from Jace.

"How do you feel?"

"Awful," she answers truthfully. "What happened?"

The grin vanishes. His brow furrows the way it does when he's upset, but his touch remains light as his thumb strokes circles over the back of her hand. "I was hoping you could tell me."

The pattern he's tracing isn't arbitrary. He's following the raised skin of a narrow, pink scar. Memories of her confrontation with Sebastian assault her like fragments of shattered glass raining down on her skin. She wants nothing more than to brush them away but can't find the strength.

Jace peers down at her with a patience she doesn't deserve. "You could have told me."

"No, I couldn't have. I had to meet Sebastian alone. That was the deal." _The real deal._ "You would have tried to stop me, or come with me."

There's a fleeting a sense of déjà vu. It wasn't long ago that Clary stole out into the night to confront the warlock alone. Afterwards, she and Jace had sat in this very same room having a similar a discussion. She realizes now that this is just a part of who they are, one of their many imperfections. Jace will always be fighting to protect her, and she will always be fighting to do what she must, regardless of the danger.

"You almost died. I _thought_ you were dead."

Her hand tightens around his. "I'm sorry, but I had to. For my—our mom." Clary's heart constricts in her chest. She lifts her head, trying to bring herself face-to-face with Jace, who suddenly looks regretful. She bites her tongue until she tastes blood. "The book. You…you have it, don't you? The Warlock—he had to have it…"

Jace drops his eyes. "Clary…"

This time, she does not stop the tears. They slip freely down her cheeks to land on the starched, white pillowcase. She presses her trembling lips to the damp fabric.

"She had it, but she found a loophole in the Promise, and she disappeared off the roof…"

Clary squeezes her eyes shut. The Book of the White is lost. She will never get to speak to her mother again. She will never hug her mother and be hugged back. She will never see her mother paint again. She will never get to ask the questions she so desperately wants answered. She will never be able to tell her mother that she forgives her.

Jace's hand touches her hair. "We'll find a way," he promises. "We'll get the book back, or we'll find something else to wake her up. It isn't over."

Clary shudders. He's right. It isn't over. She recalls the sadistic promises in Sebastian's black eyes. That hatred…she has never seen anything like it. And to have seen it directed at Jace frightens her more than she would readily admit. Because a part of her is aware that, like Valentine, Sebastian will not be satisfied with only a taste of bloodshed. He will want more, and next time he will collect his debt in full.

"How long have I been out?"

"About 16 hours."

"And Sebastian hasn't tried anything else?"

As Jace brushes the hair from her face, she realizes for the first time that there is a bandage around her head. "No. And he can't hurt you again. You took the shard from him, and we've had the wards around the Institute reinforced. And you're under house arrest anyway."

So, she did it. She got the shard. After seeing it tucked into Sebastian's belt, she waited for him to get close enough. She bided her time until he had her pinned on the altar before making a blind grab for it. He obviously didn't notice.

She didn't fail completely.

"Jace,"—she tugs on his hand—"it isn't me he wants to hurt. It's you. He blames you for what happened to Valentine, and he wants to make you suffer for it."

"But—"

"He knows about us." It is the first time those words do not make her feel ashamed. "He knows what I mean to you, so he thought the best way to make you suffer would be to hurt me."

Looking at Jace, Clary knows that Sebastian's aim struck true. For a long time now, she has been a chink in Jace's armor. It's something she's usually proud of. He lets her into places, lets her see parts of him that he hasn't shared with anyone else, including his adoptive family. He's made himself vulnerable to her, and Clary has always appreciated the responsibility she bears because of it. Now Sebastian is using that devotion to achieve his own morbid ends.

Slowly, Jace shakes his head. "But he could have killed you, and he didn't. If he knew what losing you would do to me,"—he shudders—"why did he let you live?"

She casts her gaze toward the bed. "Does it matter?"

He catches her chin and forces her eyes up to meet his. "No more secrets."

Biting her lip, she briefly contemplates the possibility of lying, but decides that keeping things from him shouldn't become a habit, even if she only means to protect him. She takes a breath and tries to speak matter-of-factly. "He said he wants to create a new breed of Shadowhunters. With me." When Jace stares back at her uncomprehendingly, she reluctantly continues. "I think it's because of what Valentine did with my blood. Sebastian thinks that, together, he and I would produce—"

In a moment, Jace is on his feet, staring down at her as if she's just told him she wants to devote her life to the slaughtering of Mundanes. "He wants—he wants you to give him _children_?"

She pushes herself up onto one elbow, hating that she doesn't have the strength to stand and go to him. "That's what he implied. It's messed up, I know—"

"No," he bites out ferociously. "He can't. _No_."

"Jace—"

"If he thinks he can just—"

"Listen to—"

"I'll kill him. I won't let him—"

"Jace!" Her head is throbbing, but Jace has gone mercifully silent, even if he remains stiff and unapproachable. His hands are trembling. "Come here."

Jaw clenched, he continues glaring at the wall above her bed.

"_Please_, come here."

He takes just two rigid steps forward, but it brings him close enough for Clary to reach out and touch his wrist.

"Sit."

He does, and she takes one his hands between both of hers, bringing his clenched fist to her lips. She leaves kisses and rubs circles until he goes pliant in her grasp, and she doesn't stop until the rest of his body follows suit.

When his breathing finally matches the pace of her own, she says, "It isn't going to happen. You said it yourself; he won't be able to reach me here a second time. And this is exactly what he wanted. Sebastian wants you upset and hurt. You can't give him that satisfaction."

"I'll never let him hurt you again."

"You didn't let him hurt me in the first place."

Jace looks like he wants to say something but remains silent.

Recognizing the small victory, she changes the subject. "Was anyone hurt in the fight last night?"

Jace shakes his head. "Not badly. Maryse was knocked unconscious at one point, but she's recovered. Other than that, nothing worse than the usual. Even Luke's pack made it out alright."

Despite his bitter tone, Clary is filled with relief. Their safety was her greatest reservation about the entire deception. Yes, it's a Shadowhunter's duty to do battle with demons no matter what the scenario, but they were on that rooftop under false pretenses because of her. The fact that they made it out safely makes her guilt a little easier to bear. "And Simon?"

"He slept on the porch," Jace mutters ruefully. "I don't think he believed me when I told him it wasn't likely you would die."

"I'll go out and see him as soon as I can."

"I wouldn't bother rushing. He's doing a commendable job of frightening away the pigeons. If being in a lame band ends up falling through, he may have found his calling as a gargoyle."

Clary smiles into his palm, pleased to hear him sounding more like himself. It's the only reason she doesn't admonish him.

But the lightheartedness doesn't last. Jace's frown makes a foreboding reappearance just before he looks away, eyes staring impassively at some spot just above her head. "Alec will want to see you. He hasn't slept since…we found you."

"Jace…"

"If it hadn't been for him, you might not have made it. When I saw you like that, I couldn't think, couldn't act. I was terrified, and all I wanted was for you to open your eyes." Jace looks haunted by recollection. "But he didn't panic; he helped you when I couldn't."

She drags her fingers down his forearm to the hollow of his elbow. The skin there is a shade paler than the rest of him—white gold. She feels his pulse, slow and steady, beating in time with her own, until she speaks and it begins to quicken.

"I'm glad he was there then," she says. "It's okay to need people."

"I need you," he admits. "I always have. Even before I met you, there was always something missing. And it wasn't just a sister. It was you."

"I need you, too." She must still be tired because she feels the pressure of tears building in her eyes once more. Jace regards her softly.

"You'll always have me. Even if it can't always be like this." He runs his knuckles along her cheek, and the gentle friction causes her to shiver. "I'm yours. Nothing you or anyone else can do will change that. Promise me, you'll remember that."

"I promise."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

His elbows rest on either side of her head, bracing his weight as he moves inside her. She lifts her hips to meet his unhurried pace, and their lips brush so lightly it almost seems accidental. It's good to be in this room again, to be in this bed with Jace looming over her in a familiar way.

And yet there's something different about tonight, about the way he holds her as if she could break beneath his touch. She knows Jace can be tender, but she's never seen him like this—frightened, almost.

She tries to coax the tension from his shoulders with a practiced touch. Her body, impatient with the torturously slow tempo, presses encouragingly against his hips. Jace moans but doesn't yield to her silent plea. If anything, his movements become more measured, more deliberate.

Clary takes a tremulous breath and doesn't push further. She knew when they began that this was something he needed. The way desperation had battled against tentativeness as he undressed her was enough to clue her in to his precarious state.

He's been behaving oddly ever since she woke up in the infirmary four days ago.

Jace stops moving altogether. Clary meets his golden stare questioningly. She brushes the damp bangs back from his face. "Is something wrong?"

He doesn't answer but draws away until he's sitting back on his knees. Then he moves her legs so that he's no longer between them.

"What—"

"Turn over."

There's nothing in his expression to give him away. His eyes are dark and the set of his mouth is a little sad, Clary thinks, but she's can't tell what he's thinking. She does as he asks, though, and rolls onto her stomach. She immediately feels Jace's hands on the backs of her thigh, parting them before moving to take hold of her hips. In this new position, he enters her quickly, causing her to gasp. Then his fingers are on the nape of her neck, collecting her hair and pulling it to one side. She shivers when his lips touch her shoulder blades, where the scar from her stab wound is still tender to the touch. His tongue soothes over the raised skin, and just when she thinks she can't stand his stillness a moment longer, Jace begins a deep, steady rhythm that has her arching back against him. His hands slide down her arms until their fingers are intertwined on the bedspread.

His pace quickens; the desperation is winning out. She leans forward into the mattress, legs tucked beneath her, so that she takes him deeper. The fluttering in her stomach has heated, tightened, and she knows that he is taking them where they both need to be.

Warm, slick ridges of muscle press against the small of her back, and then his voice, urgent and breathless, is near her ear. "This is it. God, I can't love you any other way. This will always be it."

She buries her face into the pillow, body reeling with shuddering release. She wants to speak, but her mind is full of fragmented thoughts, all dissolving like handfuls of burning confetti scattering to the winds.

Not slowing his vigorous pace, Jace lowers his lips once more to her scarred back. The words he leaves there sink into her skin with a trepidation she cannot comprehend. "Tell me we'll always have this."

His thrusts become frantic just before he goes rigid against her back, fingers digging into her hips. He loses himself, and she does not think he hears her reply.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

When Clary awakes the next morning, Jace is gone. Taking his place is a folded sheet of paper lined with neat handwriting. The letter is brief. This time he did not need to explain his heart.

She already understands.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> So, barring any major changes suggested during the editing process, it looks like we just have one more chapter to go. This is very exciting! I can't wait to see what you guys think of how everything wraps up. And, I know, another cliffhanger. I am bad like that. But the last chapter is well underway, so hopefully there isn't a long wait ahead. :)

On a completely different note, I hope everyone is enjoying City of Lost Souls. I finished it yesterday and am still recovering. Also, I couldn't help but notice some of the similarities between it and Keep the Next Breath. ;)

DO YOU LIKE THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS? DO YOU LIKE THE INFERNAL DEVICES? DO YOU LIKE FANFICTION ABOUT THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS OR THE INFERNAL DEVICES? THEN THIS NEXT OFFER IS FOR YOU. I've got a friend who has started a TMI/TID fanfic meme over on livejournal, and everyone is welcome to go and participate. I've been prompting like crazy, and I've even written something. You should go check it out for yourselves (just be aware that there will be mature content): **tmi-anon-meme** (dot) **livejournal** (dot) **com/440** (dot)** html#cutid1**


	12. Part Twelve

Lots of hugs and kisses go out to **amaggiepie** and **sunshiiine23** for being beta masters. I wish I could show my readers what the chapters look like before you guys get your hands on them. You do A LOT of work. lol.

**Warnings:** Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

**Context: **This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels and City of Lost Souls entirely.)

* * *

><p><span>Keep the Next Breath<span>

**PART TWELVE**

Clary finishes drawing the rune onto the metal of the lock, and it falls with a thud onto the floor. She pushes open the top of the large, rickety chest and breathes in a lungful of dust. Waving the stale air away from her face, she peers inside and notes that there are, in fact, books stacked in the bottom—though they're partially obscured by a thick layer of cobwebs. Leaning forward, she draws one out and wipes the cover page clean with her sleeve. The title is in Italian. She squints at the words, trying to decipher their meaning.

"Oh, good. You got it open."

She looks up at the sound of Luke's voice. He walks into the back room of the bookstore carrying a mean-looking pair of metal-cutters. She holds up her stele, giving it a wave. "Unlocking rune."

"Right." Luke sighs. "You know, sometimes I forget you're—"

"I know." Clary replaces the book. "How was Mom?"

A familiar shadow passes over Luke's face. It's one Clary has seen many times while looking in the mirror. "The same. No change."

She nods. It's the response she expected. Jocelyn's condition never changes. It never gets any worse, and it never gets any better. Clary only asks because it feels wrong not to. The pretense of hope is better than the outright rejection of it. At least, that's what she tells herself.

"Thanks again for helping out with this. I've got a lot of cataloguing to catch up on."

"No problem." Clary bites her lip. "I'm just glad that you decided to get the store up and running again. And that you stayed."

Luke nods. "It's good to be back. I missed the place. And I missed you and your mom."

"Has the council found a replacement for you yet?"

"I don't think so. But I gave them a couple of recommendations." He pushes his sliding glasses back up his nose. "Not that they'll listen to what I have to say on the matter."

"They should. You know what you're talking about."

He grins. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Clary shrugs but smiles as well. It's good to have Luke back. It's good to have _someone_.

"Oh, I brought you some help. Maia's raiding the kitchen, but she'll be in here soon. I'll be up front dealing with customers. Last-minute Christmas rush."

Her smile falls away. "Oh. Okay."

Once Luke leaves, Clary rises up onto her knees and starts going through the contents of the trunk in earnest. She's sorting the books into 'English' and 'Foreign Language" piles when the door opens again and admits the quiet _thump_ of Maia's sliding steps. The girl settles down beside Clary and wordlessly examines her method before joining in the sorting process.

They work in silence for several minutes, until they've emptied the chest and have to move on to labeling the books as 'fiction' or 'non-fiction.' Finally, Maia's friendly nature seems to win out over the awkward tension of the close-quarters.

"How have you been? Haven't seen you in a while," she says while writing down the book titles in Luke's catalogue binder. Her voice is loud in the silence of the room.

"I'm fine. You?" Clary hasn't talked to Maia since they all met at Taki's the night before the confrontation with Sebastian. That was over a month ago.

"Things have been easier since Luke got back. The pack squabbles less. Well, we still squabble, but it's less violent."

Clary doesn't look up from book jacket summary she's reading. "That's good."

Maia sighs. "Listen…I wanted to ask how you're _really_ doing. With Jace being gone and everything."

At the mention of his name, Clary automatically reaches for the Morgenstern ring hanging on the chain around her neck. The metal is cool to the touch. Its familiar weight always brings a perfect image of him to her mind.

"Have you heard from him yet?"

"No." She avoids Maia's gaze. "Not yet."

"Luke told me he left to hunt down Sebastian on his own. That seems like the type of thing he would do. And from what I've seen, he's more than capable of taking that guy on, especially—"

"Could we not talk about it?" Clary looks up from her lap. "Sorry, it's just…I'd rather not…"

Clary's phone vibrates in her pocket. She fishes it out with a sigh of relief. Glancing at the text, she pushes to her feet.

"It's Simon. He's outside waiting. I'll be back tomorrow to help finish up."

"Okay." Maia looks a little relieved as well. "I'll see you then."

She shuffles into her coat and heads for the door, stopping briefly in the shop to let Luke know she's leaving. As soon as she's outside with the surly December air whipping through her hair, she begins to relax. Something about open spaces has brought her comfort lately, and she suspects it has something to do with public spaces not allowing for intimate conversations.

She sets off in the direction of the nearest subway station at leisurely pace. It isn't long before she runs into Simon on his way to Luke's house. As she passes him, he turnsaround and falls into step with her. "I texted you saying I was still fifteen minutes away."

"I know. I just had to get out of there."

"Why? You didn't come across Luke actually using those manacles of his, did you?"

Clary groans. "No. And please try to limit your kinky sex references. You've been making a lot of them lately."

"I'm a teenage boy. It's what we do."

"Have kinky sex?"

"No. _Wish_ we were having kinky sex. We only joke about it to ease the pain of our longing."

She shakes her head. "That's ridiculous. How was your date with Isabelle?"

"Zero kinkiness. Although I thought it might take a turn in that direction when she insisted she couldn't go to the movies without her whip. Turns out she was just being practical. She beat a Raum demon with it on our way back from dinner."

"So it went well, then?"

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugged. "We're going out again on Friday."

Clary smothers the flare of jealousy in her chest and forces a smile. "That's great."

She tells herself it's a _good_ thing that her friends aren't all as miserable as she is. It's nice that they can go out without hiding behind pretenses, that they can be open with their feelings. It's normal. Healthy. _Good_. And they deserve it.

She bites her tongue.

"Here." Simon offers her a plastic baggie filled with trail mix. "My mom made it, and she'll get suspicious if it returns uneaten."

"Thanks,but I'm not hungry."

"Yeah, I know. That's been your catch phrase for, like, the last five weeks. But you'd be doing me a huge favor. I can't bring myself to just toss it out, and there's a good possibility it's lethal to birds."

Clary accepts the snack with a sigh, chewing small bites while listening to Simon recount the ridiculous comments Isabelle made throughout the movie.

They're on the platform waiting for the train, when Simons begins shuffling his feet. "I think I'm going to tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"About me being a vampire."

Clary regards him with concern. "I'm pretty sure Isabelle's well-informed on the subject."

He shakes his head. "Not Isabelle. My mom."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Clary reaches out and takes his hand. "That's great, Simon. What made you change your mind?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. In a way, it's been easier keeping it a secret. But it's hard, too." The train slows to a stop next to the platform, and the doors open to let off a steady stream of people. "It's like my mom doesn't really know me, like she's not actually a part of my life. It's sort of scary."

They board the train just before the doors slide closed and stand pressed together against one of the windows.

"Do you want me to be there when you tell her?" Clary asks, keeping her voice down.

"Thanks, but I think it might go over better if I do it on my own. I don't want her to feel ganged up on. Plus, you can't tell her about being a Shadowhunter. The fewer secrets in the room, the better, right?"

"I guess so." The woman beside Clary shifts her weight, and Clary has to squeeze against Simon's side to avoid being smashed by her giant purse. "If that's what you want."

Simon gets off with Clary at her stop. She doesn't protest because she knows exactly what he'll say. _"It's not safe with Sebastian still on the loose. Chivalry may be dead, but so am I."_ It's what he always says when she complains about being escorted around like a child—which has been quite often over the last month.

Clary supposes that as long as it makes him and everyone else feel better, she should just go along with it. And, despite the circumstances, it's been nice to see so much of Simon.

As they step out onto the street, she loops her arm through his. It's started to snow while they were on the train. She watches as snowflakes land on Simon's pale cheeks without melting.

"I was wondering," he says slowly, "if you've thought at all about dating again?" She shoots him a bemused look and he hurries to add, "Not me obviously. Just…anyone. I was wondering if you've thought about dating at all? It's just that…well, it's kind of nice. And you've been pretty down lately."

"I'm not _down_. I'm just—"

"Worried about Jace," Simon finishes. "I know."

"Finding romance isn't exactly high on my list of priorities." She shrugs. "Hayden and I weren't even dating, and look what happened to him. Honestly, I think I would make a pretty awful girlfriend right now."

"But do you _want_ to date? To find someone? Eventually?"

"Simon…"

"I know that when I broke up with you it left a big, gaping hole in your heart that nobody else could possibly fill, but that's no reason to give up on love entirely."

Clary manages a weak grin. "True. You did devastate me. But I haven't given up. Not entirely."

"That's good." Simon heaves a sigh of relief. "Because I wouldn't want your spinster-ship weighing on my conscience for the rest of eternity. And if you _ever_ need a wingman, I'm totally willing to find someone to help you out with that."

"Thanks, but I think I'll be flying solo for the foreseeable future."

Up ahead, the Institute's dark spires cut into the grey afternoon sky, and Simon and Clary slow their steps. When they reach the front stairs, Simon takes Clary's hand, drawing her around to face him. "I'm just saying that it might be easier now that Magnus is back. You wouldn't have to worry about that awkwardness with Alec."

"Magnus is back?"

"Yeah. He got in yesterday morning. Fresh from Timbuktu or someplace. I guess it means he found what he was looking for."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The greenhouse has grown wild and untamed. What used to be an organized chaos of neatly kept plots of flowers and ferns has turned into an overgrown tangle of plant life that swallows the floor and climbs the windows. Brown is now mixed in amongst the green. No one has bothered to pull the weeds. No one has bothered coming here at all since Hodge's death.

A month ago, the only time Clary had been in the greenhouse was the night before her birthday. She and Jace had watched the Midnight Flower unfold, had kissed for the first time in the soft glow of the ethereal bloom. Now, that moment feels like a lifetime ago. Even though she can recall the details of the night perfectly, it's as if the memory isn't hers at all. It belongs to another girl, someone who has never heard the name "Morgenstern" and who doesn't have a brother.

Since Jace left, Clary has been coming up here almost every day. She likes the solitude, the disillusioned beauty of the ruined gardens. She's cleared a place in the middle of the room and spread out a flannel blanket just big enough to stretch across. Sometimes she draws, but today her pencils remain in their box. Instead, she flips through the stiff pages of an old book. It's the collection of Nephilim fairytales she used to force Jace to read aloud at night. As she runs her fingers over the lines of text, she can almost feel the heat of his body lying alongside hers. When she closes her eyes, she can recall the quiet lilt of his voice.

"You know Arabic?"

Clary's eyes startle open, her hands slipping from the pages of the book. Alec is standing over her. He's dressed casually—jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. The way he tips his head makes his dark hair fall into his face. He pushes it back impatiently.

"I can't read it," she admits, "but I like the pictures."

"I could probably read a bit to you. I'm kind of rusty, but it looks pretty basic."

Her heart constricts. "No, that's okay. I prefer coming up with my own stories, anyway."

He nods and a silence stretches out between them. It's surreal having someone else in the greenhouse after the weeks of the uninterrupted seclusion the place has afforded her. She's not sure what to say and can only watch Alec's face as he seems to struggle with how to proceed. Finally he gestures to the blanket. "Can I…?"

"Sure." She sits up, making him enough room for him to join her. He moves gracefully, folding his long legs beneath him as he sits down just in front her, their knees almost touching. Now that he's closer, she can see how tired he looks. The dark half-circles beneath his eyes stand out like bruises against his pale skin.

She's curious. Curious as to why he's nervous and curious as to why _she_ suddenly feels anxious. They've seen a lot of each other since the morning she found Jace's letter on her pillow. If Clary wants to go out and Simon isn't available, it's usually Alec who escorts her. They never discuss Jace, and yet it's as if he's constantly with them—an invisible pressure condensing the air, making her more aware of each breath she takes.

She knows that Alec knows. Even though he hasn't said anything, she knows he's figured it out—figured _them_ out. It doesn't frighten her like it should. She fears Maia and Sebastian in a way it seems impossible to fear Alec. It must have something to do with the way he looks at her.

Or _looked_ at her. She tries catching his eye now, tries to see if that something has disappeared, like a dream stolen by the reality of the waking world. "Simon told me Magnus was back."

Alec nods, his eyes on the sprawling plant life around them. "Yeah, he is."

Her throat has gone dry. She has to mentally shake herself to get the next words out. "And did he find a way to exorcise the daemon?"

"Yes," he answers almost distantly. "He found a ritual used by a Mongol priest in the 15th century. It involves tricking the daemon into thinking the human is dead and then trapping it an alternative dimension when it leaves the body."

"So then it's gone?" Clary looks down at the book in her lap. She traces a finger along the cover, following the impressions of the embossed title. It's beautiful, she thinks. "You're not in love with me anymore?"

"No, I…" When he falls silent, she has no choice but to look up. He's watching her. With those blue eyes that seem darker in the natural light of the greenhouse. Where Jace is steady like an undying flame, Alec's steadiness is that of a notched arrow—patient, watchful, and unbending. She sees that determination in him now. "No," he says, "I told him not to do the ritual."

The leather binding gives beneath her fingernails. She inhales and hears the sound like blood rushing in her ears. She feels hot, or frozen, or both. She can't look away from Alec. "I don't understand. Is it too dangerous? Or are your parents pressuring you?"

"No." He shakes his head. "Well, it's not _that_ dangerous. And my parents haven't said much of anything about it. I think they're afraid to."

"Then I…" Clary swallows. "I don't understand."

Nodding, he lifts a hand as if to reach for hers but then seems to think better of it. Instead he tugs at the denim covering his legs. His eyes, however, remain focused on her. "Do you know why you fell in love with Jace? The specific reason why it was him and not someone else?"

She bites the inside of her lip. A part of her—the part concerned with self-preservation—warns her not to answer. Knowing is one thing, but acknowledging it aloud is something else entirely. And although she's not afraid of Alec, she's afraid of what it will mean to trust someone else. Will it change them? Have they already changed? Where is Jace now and why doesn't he know that she needs him?

Clary shakes her head, trying to dislodge the despair that accompanies these thoughts. She considers Alec's question. There are several things she loves about Jace. But she can't explain what it is about these things that make her love him the way she does instead of the way she should—like a sister. "No," she says softly.

"Does that matter? Not knowing?"

Her chest feels tight, a sensation that travels to her throat as she shakes her head. "No."

Now he does take her hand. The warm, callused touch of his palm is the realest thing she's felt in weeks. Instinctively, she wraps her finger wrap tightly around his. He squeezes back.

"Almost every person in this world would say that your feelings for him are wrong. Unnatural." He ducks his head closer to hers. "And right now, sitting here, you know you won't ever get to be with him the way you want to. But if someone told you they could take away your feelings for him, would you let them do it?"

Clary can't find her voice. All she can manage to do is shake her head until Alec's hand gently catches her face, his fingers brushing away the tears that have started escaping. The next breath she takes shudders painfully in her chest.

Alec shifts closer, moving to her side. "We don't choose who we fall in love with. I learned that a long time ago. I didn't choose to fall in love with you, Clary. But I love you, and I don't want to stop. That's something the daemon doesn't get a say in."

"But you know what I've done with Jace, with _my brother_." The words she's never let herself truly _feel_ until now rise up without mercy. She feels each of them like a lit match pressed to her skin. "There's something wrong with me. I'm broken so that Jace is the only thing I want. Why would you want to love someone like that?"

The small amount of space separating them disappears as Alec turns her face toward his and kisses her. It's soft and declarative like the kiss he gave her in the training room. Only he doesn't pull back, but presses forward so that she has to lift her chin to keep their lips touching. And that's when Clary realizes she's kissing him back.

She exhales sharply against his mouth. It's as if all of the apprehension, all the anxiety, drains from her, disappearing into the soft heat of his touch. As his hand slips to the back of her neck, she feels light and unexpectedly lucid, as if she's woken from a dream to find the real world a much safer, coherent place. She chases the feeling, opening her mouth against his and pushing up onto her knees so that she can feel the firmness of his body press against hers.

His fingers hook into the belt loops of her jeans, and he tugs until she's in his lap, her legs slung around his hips. When he tips his head back to meet her mouth again, she's consumed with the heady sensation of sinking without fear of drowning. His hands caress her face, her hair, her neck, her ribs. There's nothing urgent in the way he touches her. The moment isn't fragile or in danger of slipping away; it's steady and enduring like a quickened heartbeat.

He's the one to draw away first. Her hands are fisted in the front of his shirt, so he doesn't get far. Breathlessly, he rests his forehead against hers. "Not broken," he says.

Her eyes fall closed. She shakes her head. "Aren't you afraid I won't ever love you back?"

"Yes," he admits. "But there's always that risk. No matter whom you love."

"Magnus…"

"I've hurt him." He sighs against her cheek. "I love him, but I've hurt him, and I don't think there's any going back."

There's something raw about the pain of the confession, and Clary finds herself kissing the corner of his mouth in an attempt at comfort. "You shouldn't wait for me."

"I know." He pulls back far enough to look her in the eye. "Jace _is_ coming back, Clary. He's coming back for you."

"You don't know that." Clary releases his shirt and absently smoothes out the wrinkles she's left. "It's been weeks."

"He'll do what it takes kill Sebastian."

"I know he will. I've never doubted that." She picks through her words and feelings carefully, trying to find the truth that's been buried. "But what about after that? What if he doesn't _want_ to come back? You know about us. Maia knows about us. Some kid in Luke's pack even knows about us. Maybe he doesn't think it's worth it anymore."

"I think,"—Alec touches a scarred hand to the side of her face—"that you give Jace too much credit. He doesn't want an easy life. He wants you. I don't think anything short of you sending him away will keep him from you. No matter how wrong it might be."

"I won't," Clary says. "I won't send him away."

Alec nods to himself. "I know you won't. Being with him is the only thing that makes you happy right now."

"I shouldn't have kissed you." This thought comes to her rather belatedly, and she makes no move to untangle herself from him. Instead she watches the rise-and-fall of his chest and studies the way he braces his weight with the hand not fixing her hair.

"I won't hold it against you." Once her hair is as close to tidy as it ever gets, he stops and seems to take her in. "You won't hold it against me, will you?"

"No." She catches his hand. "Of course not."

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

The Lightwoods don't celebrate Christmas. There's no fake tree. No lights. No corny music. Aside from Isabelle's failed attempt at baking gingerbread men, Christmas Eve passes in much the same way every other day has since Jace left. Clary trains with Robert, has a lesson with Maryse, and goes hunting with Alec and Isabelle.

In a way, she's grateful for the familiar routine. When she finally climbs into bed that night, she can almost pretend that tomorrow will be no different, that when she wakes up, the absence of Jocelyn and Jace will be no more painful than it was the day before. She can almost convince herself that the thought of Christmas without her family doesn't tear at her resilience.

She falls asleep, listening to the howl of the wind as it whips past her window.

An hour later, something wakes her. For a moment she lies still in the darkness, trying to think past the fog of sleep. She listens, hears nothing, and decides that it must have been a dream. She's already slipping back into darkness when she feels it—the weight of a body beside her on the bed.

Her eyes snap open. The first thing she sees is the dagger on her nightstand, the one she keeps in her room for protection. When she notices a second dagger lying beside it, her entire body tenses. Suddenly she can hear the slow, even breaths of the person just over her shoulder. Beneath the blankets, her hand slides across the mattress, reaching toward her dagger.

His voice stops her.

"Clary."

She rolls over so quickly her head spins. Jace is sitting on the bed beside her. At first, she thinks she must be imagining him. But then again, she has never imagined him looking like this. His hair, damp with melting snow, is dark and limp. It brushes the collar of his jacket, which is filthy and rent with long tears down the front. The meager light from the window washes out the color of his skin so that he's the color of paper; even the thin line of his lips look white. Everything about him seems…lifeless.

Except for his eyes. They're as gold as ever, burning and wild as they meet her own. If it weren't for the way he was looking at her and the slight trembling of his body, Clary might have thought he was a ghost.

"Jace." She can't stop from launching herself at him. Arms wrapped around his chest, she buries her face against his neck and doesn't flinch, even though he's as cold as ice. "You're really here."

He doesn't respond. Slowly his arms go around her, loosely at first and then tightening until he's holding her so closely she can hardly breathe. He turns his face into her hair and she nearly melts with relief.

"Are you okay? You look terrible."

"Clary, I…"

She tries pulling back to see his face, but Jace's hold is like iron. She runs her hands soothingly over his back. "Jace? What's wrong?"

He shakes his head. His voice is strained in her ear. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

"Yes it is. You're so cold, you're shaking."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do." She tries drawing away again, and his arms tighten around her. "Jace, please. Can we at least dry you off, before you get sick?"

Slowly, he releases her and allows her to stand and guide him to his feet. She leads him into the bathroom, where she flips on the light, illuminating the small space and the extent of Jace's disheveled state. He's soaked to the bone.

Clary shakes her head. "You need a hot shower."

As she pulls open the curtain and leans in to adjust the taps, he keeps one hand on the small of her back. His cold fingers slip beneath the hem of her tank top, sliding across her skin and causing her to shiver.

Once the water begins to warm, Clary turns to Jace. She pushes the jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, and it hangs from his wrists until he releases her long enough to let it fall to the floor. His shirt goes next, and as soon as it's off, he reaches for her face. His thumbs trace her cheekbones as she unbuckles his belt and works his jeans and underwear off his hips. Once he's stepped out of them, Clary sighs and gestures helplessly to the running shower. "It should be hot enough now."

Jace continues to stare down at her. She can't help but note the discrepancy between the urgency in his gaze and the careful way his hands slide down her body. He takes the material of her tank top and drags it up. Clary lifts her arms, letting him pull the top over her head. The cool air raises goose bumps over her exposed skin, and she's grateful that he doesn't hesitate in ridding her of the rest of her clothes.

They step under the hot spray together, and Clary positions them so that Jace takes the brunt of the water. He hardly seems to notice. Now that they're both wet, his fingers glide more easily across her skin. He draws her against him and ducks his head to find her lips.

Clary turns so that he catches her cheek instead. "Don't kiss me," she murmurs. If they start, they won't stop. And she wants an explanation. "What happened? Where have you been?"

"I told you I had to take care of him." The words barely reach her over the steady hammer of water against the basin. "And I did. Sebastian's dead."

Her heart jumps in her chest. His words ring somewhere between her ears and their meaning seems so dangerously fragile that she almost doesn't trust it. The tips of her fingers turn white where they're pressing into his skin. "Are you…sure? Absolutely sure?"

Jace nods. "He won't hurt you, or anyone else, ever again."

Clary sighs and sags against him when her legs feel weak. She peers up at him. "And are you okay? You don't look injured, but you don't look _well_ either."

"I almost didn't come back."

"But you did. You're alive. You're here. You beat him."

Jace shakes his head, the movement slow and careful. "It only took me a few days to find Sebastian. I killed him a month ago."

Suddenly the steam from the water is not enough to keep Clary warm. She shivers. "What do you mean?"

For the first time since he appeared in her bedroom, Jace looks away from her. He stares at the white tiles lining the wall, brow furrowed. When he speaks, he sounds pleading. "I had to try. I owed it to both of us to really _try_. I thought maybe it would be easier when I didn't have to see you every day. I thought it would be less impossible. Even if I didn't want it to be."

She understands now. "You mean…being my brother."

He nods. "I tried. Whenever I thought of you, I tried not to think of us. Just you. Clary. My sister. I tried tricking myself. I imagined what our lives would have been like if we had grown up together as children. Playing together, fighting, stealing each other's toys. I told myself that if we had always been family, things would be different now."

Clary looks at where her hands are splayed across his chest, pale fingers overlapping black runes twined across gold skin. There is something stunning and imperfect about the resulting composition. It's familiar to her in the same way she recognizes the shape of her own shadow or the disorderly scrawl of her own handwriting. It is undeniably hers.

"And?" she quietly prompts.

"And it didn't work. I couldn't convince myself that I would love you any differently than how I love you now—with every part of me I know and every part you make me want to find." Jace's gaze returns to her, certain and unflinching. "I'll be your brother," he says, "for the Lightwoods, for Luke, for Jocelyn. For the rest of the world. But I won't ever be a brother to you. I won't pretend with you—or myself. I _can't_."

"Even if that was what I wanted?"

Beneath her right palm, his heartbeat quickens. "Even then," he says, sounding pained. "I can leave you—physically—but you won't ever leave me. Not in the ways that matter." His hand on her cheek is gentle, cautious. "Do you want me to go?"

She thinks about the last several weeks of life without Jace. The uncertainty. The Lightwoods' poorly disguised anxiety. The restlessness. The cold bed. The silent mornings. The long afternoons in the greenhouse. She imagines that as a sampling of a future without him. She wonders how long it would take for the empty feeling to subside enough for her to move on with her life, or whether she would even manage to at all.

She thinks that love can't be set aside like a heavy stone you're tired of bearing. It's a weight you take with you wherever you go, and the only choice you have is deciding how to carry it.

"I kissed Alec."

She waits, expecting him to pull away, to give her a betrayed look that will make the vice around her heart squeeze that much tighter. But he doesn't drop his hand from her face. His unwavering stare gives her the reassurance to continue.

"I'm not sorry that I did. Because when I kissed him, I realized that I _could_. I'm capable of choosing differently, and maybe it would be easier if I did. But I don't want to." She slides her hands up his chest to his shoulders and feels the tension of everything he is—muscle, and bone, and Jace. "I love you and I want to be with you, even if it's going to be hard."

Water streams from his hair down over his face, darkening his lashes and causing them to stick together. His eyes have almost disappeared beneath them entirely. "And that will make you happy?"

"I'm happy when I'm with you."

"Then you're happy now?"

"I will be, once you kiss me."

This time she doesn't turn away, and the kiss is a collision of respite, forgiveness, and crossed hearts sworn to die. She doesn't close her eyes.

**[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]**

This isn't his first time in a Mundane hospital. Clary dragged him here to see Jocelyn after the night at Renwick's when Valentine first told them they were brother and sister. Jace hadn't wanted to come, but Clary was desperate, and even then he would have done almost anything for her. Now, he's the one who's brought them here. And he regrets it more and more as the minutes pass.

Beside him, Clary fidgets and bites her lip. Even though they're in a deserted hallway in Hospital's basement, Jace doesn't reach for her hand. He tells himself it's practice for the real thing. This time he can't afford to slip. Not when the stakes are this high.

The door in front of them opens, and Magnus steps out. He's dressed more conservatively than usual—tight black pants and a shiny purple shirt with billowing sleeves. He looks tired, and Jace can guess that the spell he just finished casting isn't the only reason why. Magnus's cat eyes regard him wearily. "She's awake."

Clary bounces lightly on her toes. "Is she alright?"

Magnus nods. "There don't seem to be any lingering side effects. But only time will tell for certain."

Clary seems to take that in and then shoots a questioning glance at Jace. He inclines his head toward the door. "Go ahead. I'll wait until she's ready."

She gives him a small smile that wants to be bigger and then disappears inside the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

"I'm surprised Alec didn't insist on coming." Magnus looks down at the Book of the White, which is clasped firmly, if a bit reverently, in his hands. There is still a bit of blood smudged across the cover from when Jace took it off of Sebastian's dead body.

"He thought he'd do more harm than help." He thinks it should feel strange defending the person in love with Clary, but Jace will always think of Alec as his _parabatai_ first and foremost.

"Meaning he didn't want to have to see me."

Jace shrugs.

Sighing, Magnus casually snaps his fingers, and the book disappears from sight—his payment for waking Jocelyn up. Jace is glad to see it go.

Magnus turns to leave but pauses and looks back at Jace. "If I could offer a word of advice?"

"I probably won't listen."

"The foolish rarely do."

"Well, now that you've buttered me up…"

"Make the most of what little time you have," Magnus says. "Don't waste it being too afraid to live life as you like. Alec understood that."

With that, Magnus leaves down the hall, and Jace is alone with nothing but a door separating him from the choices he's made. He can hear their voices.

"He's outside. I brought him to meet you."

"Clary…"

"I know it's hard because you thought you'd lost him all this time. But now you have a second chance. I thought you'd be happy."

"You don't understand. Jonathon…even when he was a baby, I could tell there wasn't something right. He wasn't completely human. Now that we know what Valentine did to him, it makes sense that he would possess that sort of darkness."

"Just because he has demon blood doesn't mean he's _evil_."

"It's not his fault. I know that. But it's his nature to—"

"No. You don't know anything about Jace's nature. He's one of the most good, most loyal people I've ever met. Maybe when he was little all you could see was the darkness, but he's grown now, and his actions speak for themselves. You know, I've got angel blood in me and it doesn't make me behave any more angelically than anyone else. Sometimes blood is just blood."

Silence.

The bedsprings creak as someone stands. "Can you please just give him a chance? He's your son. And he's my brother. We're family."

Jace tracks the footsteps as they approach the door, and then Clary is standing there, biting her lip and nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Hanging from her neck is the Morgenstern ring, the one that Sebastian had used to follow her every movement. Jace remembers the night he left it for her in Alicante and can't help but feel that its significance has changed. Instead of reminding him of the boy he used to be, it reminds him of the future he's cautiously begun to reach for. Seeing the ring around Clary's neck is more reassuring than the strained smile she gives him as he follows her inside.

Awake, Jocelyn looks even more like Clary. She has the same penetrating green eyes, the same easy posture, the same crease at the corner of her mouth that means she's dealing with something stressful. And yet she's not like Clary at all. There's something fundamentally different that Jace can't quite put his finger on. When he looks at Clary, some essential part of him recognizes her. When she's in the room, he _feels_ the tether that binds them.

Jace looks into the eyes of the woman who gave birth to him and feels nothing.

She's sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap. Her fingers are long and elegant, with trimmed nails kept short by the attentive hospital staff. As he stops just a few feet away, her steady gaze sweeps over him, eyes scrutinizing and searching, although he's not sure what she expects to find. The demon she left behind? A glimpse of Valentine? He wonders if she feels the same indifference that he does, but then doubts that he could be so lucky.

Doubt. He recognizes it in her face only because her expressions are so similar to Clary's, and he's seen that look before. But then it's gone, vanished beneath the surface, and she smiles cautiously. "Hello, Jonathon."

**~ fin ~**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> And here we are. After a long, long, long road. Thank you to everyone who's read, and an extra big thank you to everyone who took the time to leave me feedback. If it weren't for you guys, my stories would just stay on my hard drive forever. You give me the confidence to soldier on. :)

I know that this is an ending not everyone will be pleased with. I only ask that you please consider that this is the ending to this fanfic and not the ending of these characters' stories. I like to think that they continue to go on living and changing even after the curtain drops. But maybe that's just me being sentimental.

To my betas amaggiepie and sunshiiine23...you guys rock. Without you guys this story would not be worth reading. It would be shit. So thank you from the bottom of my fanfic writer heart. It's always good to have supportive people in your corner.

Hopefully, I'll see some of you guys around the TMI/TID fandom!


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